


Hammer Time

by wynnebat



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad Decisions, Bathroom Sex, Birthday Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Mental Health Issues, POV Tony Stark, Rimming, falling in love through sheer annoyance, pov justin hammer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-02-16 07:13:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18686659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnebat/pseuds/wynnebat
Summary: In which Tony Stark derails the events of IM2 with sex, Justin Hammer finally gets senpai to notice him, and Ivan Vanko just wants revenge.





	1. Chapter 1

Blood toxicity: 53%.

It’s rather satisfying to have a solid reason to spiral out of control.

By now, Tony is familiar with downward spirals. One could say his entire life has been one in one way or another, and one might even be correct. He’s done the drinking and the smoking and the women, and he’s got his multiple garages of beautiful cars and other impulse purchases. He’s had ill-advised sex with any number of people and the internet is a year by year chronicle of his worst decisions. Frankly, it’s a surprise he’s even lived this long. He blames it on the irritating sense of responsibility that being CEO of Stark Industries forced him to develop. Even in the middle of a drunken escapade, he’d never been late to provide a design or put a product on the market.

Now, with Pepper at his back and new plans for his company in the works, Tony must be even more responsible, and he can’t quite manage that.

Responsibility is hard when you’re, oh, 53% dead.

Tony closes his eyes, splashes water onto his face, and double-checks to make sure that no part of the device in his chest, nor the black veins, can be seen through his shirt. It’s high time for another bad decision, but first, he wants a drink.

Perk of being Tony Stark: he’s served promptly at the bar, to the complaint of a couple of young idiots, while the rest just try to get him in the background of a selfie. Not a perk of being Tony Stark: the dying bit. It’s possible that he’s dwelling on it, beating a dead horse and all, but death has been on his mind nearly constantly since he passed the 50% mark. He can taste the dread as he knocks down a shot. It almost goes well together.

“Anthony,” calls out an overly cheerful voice.

“Fuck,” Tony says aloud, giving his glass a gloomy look.

Hammer all but knocks down the person in the barstool next to Tony’s, pointing its occupant toward an empty table, and sits down. To the bartender, he says, “I’ll have whatever he’s having.”

Tony sighs loudly. This does not seem to be enough of a deterrent, so he asks, “Did Everhart ditch you for a better target?”

“Christine is still doing a full piece on me. She just has other responsibilities,” Hammer tells him, looking away only to see the bartender place two shots in front of him. “Oh, is that what you’re drinking?” He doesn’t pick up the glass. “I’m this close to getting the newest drone contract. _This_ close.” He emphasizes it with his hand, doing a pinching motion too close to Tony’s face. “Which you’d know all about if you still kept up with the industry news.”

“If my company still did that kind of business, you wouldn’t stand a chance in hell of beating us out,” Tony replies, amused. He’s not even bluffing. He doesn’t need to be. But he’s not here to talk shop and insult Hammer, no matter how easy it is. He’s here to make a bad decision. And frankly, it’s been a while since he’s made a bad decision with his dick. Tony scratches his chin and looks Hammer over; Hammer doesn’t notice, still droning on about drones. When you’re on a downward spiral, every bad decision turns into a fantastic one. And Hammer, while an idiot, has never been bad on the eyes. Just on the ears. And on the sanity. And Tony wouldn’t step near a Hammer device for fear of it exploding on him. But otherwise, Hammer is harmless. He’s not even a lawsuit waiting to happen; if there’s one thing he can give Hammer, it’s that he’s never been enough of an idiot to get into a legal battle with Stark Industries. Tony takes both shots between his fingers and raises them toward Hammer. “You ordered them; may as well drink.”

“I prefer wine,” Hammer says, like an asshole, but he takes the second shot and holds it out.

“If you say to the USA, I’m out of here.”

Hammer breathes through his nose. “To world peace and to you coming to your senses.”

“No chance of that,” Tony tells him, but he clinks his glass against Hammer’s and knocks it back. He barely tastes it before he’s standing up and saying, “If we’re doing this, meet me in the bathroom.”

“Doing what?” Hammer squawks, looking flustered. It can’t be completely from the drink.

Walking backwards Tony raises his arms, all spread out, and shoots him a grin while turning around. It’s not entirely fake; Hammer’s expression is fucking hilarious. It’s not like he could have missed either Tony’s bisexuality (out and proud, he’d even managed to come out before his father’s death in order to properly disappoint his dear old dad) or his promiscuity (which, admittedly, has been dialed down as he’s gotten older and become Iron Man).

And Tony hasn’t missed the occasional sign of Hammer’s attraction to him, either. He doesn’t keep up with gossip; whether Hammer is out or closeted or thinks he’s straight, it doesn’t matter. Tony snags an out of service sign from a waitress who hasn’t learned how to say no to celebrities yet and places it in front of the men’s bathroom. There’s no one inside, which is good. Tony’s not a fan of ruining the mood by waiting around for someone to finish doing their business. He wouldn’t kick the guy out; he may be here for a quick fuck, but he does have some standards.

Tony leans back against the counter, content with the terrible decision he’s making.

It feels pretty damn good.

Self-destructive behavior usually does.

Hammer enters the bathroom, glancing back over his shoulder.

“No one cares,” Tony offers. “They’re too busy with the Grand Prix about to start to give a shit about what two billionaires get up to. I’m sure Everhart is already five paragraphs deep into her spread on Pepper.”

“Your new CEO is stealing my thunder,” Hammer complains as he closes the door. He stops there, not taking the few necessary steps to reach Tony. Tony raises an eyebrow and wraps his hands around the edges of the marble countertop. It puts him as looking open, available, easy for Hammer to just take the final steps. Frankly, Tony’s offended that he’s making all this effort to seduce Justin fucking Hammer. He could be getting turned down by Christine Everhart instead. Hammer says, “Um, Anthony, that’s not why I’m here.”

“It’s Tony,” Tony says. He feels like he’s said it before, but he doesn’t usually keep track of conversations with Hammer. In fact, he does his best to forget them. He’s getting the feeling that today will be one for that list as well. He reaches out, snags Hammer’s tie, and tugs so gently that it could barely be described as pressure. Hammer nearly trips over his feet anyway, not stopping until he’s inches away. “That’s better.”

“I have the highest respect for you and your inventions,” Hammer valiantly says, “But I’m straight.”

“Yeah?” Tony runs his thumb along the soft material of Hammer’s tie, up and down. It’s not a hardship. He bets the rest of Justin’s suit is just as nice to press against. He’s missed it. Not Hammer in particular— _never_ Hammer—but the press of a man against his body. These past few years, he’s been with women more often than not, maybe to try to distract himself from his growing feelings for Pepper. Falling in love is uncomfortable, like freefall, and Tony may be great with bad decisions but he can’t bring himself to make one that will just hurt her in the end. But this? There are no feelings here. There’s just the way Hammer is watching his hands, his mouth, occasionally even his eyes. “You know I heard there’s such thing as bisexuality. It’s when you let a man suck you off.”

Hammer swallows. It’s a good sight. He’s pretty fucking attractive when he’s silent. Tony’s always thought so. “Would you really? I didn’t think that you did that.”

“Don’t make this into something it’s not,” Tony warns, smoothing down Hammer’s tie. He can almost feel the heat of his chest on the pads of his fingers. “This isn’t a power play. There’s nothing degrading about sucking cock. This has nothing to do with Stark Industries or Hammer Industries, and it certainly has nothing to do with you gunning for a spot in the Stark Expo. This is about the fact that I’m on a roll with my bad decisions and you’re not bad looking.”

And hell, it could be worse. Hammer isn’t a walking sexual harassment lawsuit, as Pepper put it of Natalie, nor is he a reporter. He doesn’t even hate Tony’s guts in that way that would make this an even worse decision, debasement instead of pleasure. Most of the antagonism between them comes from the fact that Tony thinks Hammer is an insufferable idiot. Thankfully, Tony doesn’t have standards for the IQ of his partners to be anywhere near his, otherwise he’d be resigned to a long and boring existence of jerking off into his hand and being turned down by people too smart to fuck him.

Hammer spends a moment thinking it over, then says, “So what you’re saying is that you find me irresistible.”

“That’s not even close to what—”

Tony finds himself being kissed, which is a time-honored strategy to shutting him up that Tony approves of. Hammer’s not bad at it, either, and Tony only has to break the kiss once to move Hammer’s hand from Tony’s chest to a bit further down, murmuring, “Not there.”

Hell, he’d move it to his shoulder, or his ass, just not against the metal and raw scars on his chest. But Hammer doesn’t seem to mind, making a gasping sort of sound into Tony’s mouth as his fingers press against Tony’s cock. There are two layers of cloth between them, but Tony tries to be sensitive to Hammer’s gay virginity, if that’s what this is. Hammer gets with the program quickly. Or maybe it’s just curiosity that has him running his hand up and down the length of Tony’s cock.

They stay that way for a while, Hammer lazily exploring Tony’s cock, dragging the zipper of his pants down and pushing aside his briefs. It’s not a handjob so much as a declaration of interest, a languid press of hands and mouths that builds up over the course of the kiss. Tony doesn’t mind at all; it’s been a while since he could get hard without some buildup. Since about the time he got shrapnel blown into his chest and started dying. But he’s not thinking about that. He’s thinking about the way Hammer’s all enthusiastic as he kisses into Tony’s mouth, the way he’s a little sweet about it, the way this is the longest Tony has been able to stand him in a while. Fuck, he should have made this particular bad decision years ago. He hadn’t been hard when they’d started, but he sure is now.

Tony’s angling for more pressure when Hammer tips his head to the side to break the kiss and says, “You promised me a blowjob.” He still sounds insufferable, but he’s flushed and kissed out, and it looks good on him.

“I remember you saying something about Stark Industries breaking its vows and its promises to the American public,” Tony replies, nipping at Hammer’s lips.

“This isn’t about Stark Industries,” Hammer repeats Tony’s words, sounding convinced of it this time. “I bet Tony Stark keeps his promises.”

It’s part dare, part plea, all determined brown eyes, and Tony kisses him again before searching his pocket for a condom and going to his knees. “Sometimes, sure.”

This doesn’t feel like a terrible decision anymore. There’s something surprisingly uncomplicated about it when in fact it should be the opposite. Maybe it’s because despite all their competition and distaste for each other’s engineering skills, there’s nothing angry or competitive about this. Justin isn’t tugging at his hair—and if this happens again, Tony will have to let him know he doesn’t mind a bit of that—nor is he being an idiot and gloating about having Tony Stark on his knees for him. Maybe it’s that sex makes Hammer temporarily seem like a decent person. Maybe it’s because all of Tony’s brainpower has fallen away to focus on the only two things that matter right now: the cock between his legs and the one between his lips.

His chest aches, nothing surprising about that. His arousal distracts from it enough for Tony to think he should have started sleeping around weeks ago. Better to die during an orgy than meet his end alone and watching his blood toxicity level rise and rise. He vastly prefers latex to blood.

Hammer comes with a wordless groan, his fingers unconsciously tangling through Tony’s hair, and tugs Tony up to kiss him thoroughly. Tony wants to call bullshit on Hammer’s not gay routine earlier, but there’s a hand on his dick and a tongue in his mouth and his brain stopped communicating with his mouth a while back. He comes like that, Hammer pressed up against him like a magnet, and when some of the fog clears Tony feels a keen absence of regret.

Usually, this is when the guilt and regret seeps in, but he hasn’t made any promises to anyone else and compared to his half-baked idea of joining the Grand Prix, this is safe and sane, and very consensual. Leaving one last kiss against the side of Hammer’s mouth, Tony murmurs, “Alright, not bad, Hammer. Have you considered changing your line of business?”

“I could never break _my_ promises to the good old US of A,” Hammer huffs in reply, but without any heat behind his words. “I’m a gentleman.”

“You’re a menace.” Tony rolls his eyes, but he tugs Hammer in for another last kiss before cleaning himself up and walking out the bathroom door.

It’s quiet outside. The rest of the attendees have either left for the Grand Prix or the wait staff are very good about making sure that he isn’t disturbed. Money tends to do that. He may not be able to buy back his good health, but he can have this for a while longer.


	2. Chapter 2

“I just fucked Anthony Edward Stark,” Justin says to the empty room after watching Tony walk out the door with a newfound spring to his step. Justin himself may experience the same little spring, but for the moment he doesn’t move an inch. “Justin Hammer, you fucked Tony Stark. Congratulations.”

He grins into the mirror in a way he’d never admit to anyone, wild and boyish despite his age, while he washes up. Fuck, he’s practically leaking endorphins. There’s no clock in the bathroom; he can’t tell how long it’s been, nor if it’s been long enough for his assistant to try to find him. It feels like forever and only moment, time wrapped up in Tony Stark’s unrivaled, undivided attention. Justin finds denial useless, so he’s known for years that he’s attracted to Tony. It hasn’t been particularly relevant. He’s not in any position to be upfront about his attraction to men. Tony can get away with it due to everyone salivating over the Stark Industries brand; the same can’t be said for Justin. Hammer Industries may have overtaken Stark Industries’ spot in the weapons contracting, but it’s only because Stark decided to not even compete. He hasn’t been with a man in years, not for a lack of wanting it.

He’d rather be a successful weapons contractor than sexually satisfied, but for a day, he can be both. There’s no competition from Stark Industries anymore and all he has to do is convince the government that his company’s designs will improve with more funding. And he just had sex with Tony fucking Stark.

Justin straightens his tie. The sense memory of Tony running his fingers along it is the only thing he can think of for a few moments. He shakes the thought from his head. Sex makes idiots out of people. Tony Stark has made an idiot out of him for years, so it stands to reason that this will only make it worse. Unfortunately, Justin can’t hold onto anger very well at the moment. He’ll give it a day or two. Three. No more than a week. He can’t even gloat about this to anyone, as according to the rest of the world, Justin Hammer wouldn’t fuck Tony Stark in a million years. It’s a conundrum.

After washing up, he makes his way to the door. Maybe Tony will be at the bar again. Or better not, as Justin is too out of sorts to see him again.

His hand is on the doorknob when a scream echoes from the other side of the door, followed by crashing and sizzling.

Justin’s first impulse is to step away from the door and hide in a stall. No matter the fact that Hammer Industries is attempting to build their own Iron Man suits, Justin himself is not a hero. He doesn’t intend to pilot a single one of them. Unlike Tony, he doesn’t have a death wish. His second impulse is to go out there and watch Tony wave around his death wish because if there’s one thing he knows, it’s that Tony will always be at the center of attention.

He presses against the door and edges it open a few inches. Just enough to see what’s going on.

And, oh. Well. There is a man in an orange jumpsuit making an absolute mess of the restaurant while Tony ducks and dodges to avoid him. The waitstaff and any lingering guests have fled, but one young woman is hiding behind the bar. Justin can see enough of her to know she’s shaking. Frankly, it is none of his business.

Tony has made an enemy as dramatic and over the top as he is; while this man is not an iron suit of his own, he’s wearing a metal exoskeleton and has metal whips attached to his arms that sizzle with electricity. All of this, it’s Tony’s problem. _Iron Man_ _’s_ problem.

Tony, who is flesh and bone, with no suit of armor in sight.

Tony, whose flesh Justin was kissing just minutes ago.

If Tony dies, it’s a positive from the perspective of Hammer Industries. No Starks will ever be able to steal defense contracts from Hammer Industries again. If Tony dies, his technology will likely go with him, as well as everything else his brilliant brain would have come up with in the decades to come. Justin has railed against that brain of Tony’s for years. There has been a lot of drunken ranting about how Justin’s IQ isn’t that much lower than Tony’s and that his projects aren’t any worse.

If Tony dies, there will never be a repeat of what happened today.

All in all, it’s a tough deal.

Justin hasn’t decided on his plan of action when he makes his way out of the bathroom. He’s glued to the wall, as though that will help him avoid being electrocuted if this crazy person sees him. He doesn’t move until it looks like Tony’s actually in a tough spot, cornered between the wall and the enemy, whose mechanical whips are raised and ready to strike.

Justin throws a barstool at him. It hits the man square in the back.

When Orange Jumpsuit turns to him with the most intense look of anger on his face that Justin has ever seen, Justin swallows and says, “You know what, I regret that life choice. I don’t know what I was thinking. Can we forget it happened?”

It seems that this man cannot, in fact, do that.

Justin takes a few steps back with a furtive sound that is not a squeal but maybe shares some hallmarks of one. He blames Tony for everything. Obviously, he sucked Justin’s intellect right out with his blowjob and now Justin is no better than the Ironettes. This is his fate: death at the hand of a man who wants to kill Tony Stark, but settles for Justin as a starter. He’s second-best even in murder. It would be infuriating were he not terrified to his bones.

Orange Jumpsuit is advancing. Justin nearly trips in his haste to flee.

And then there’s an honest to god electric whip heading his way.

With a shriek, Justin dodges, only barely aware of a few other people running into the restaurant. Pepper Potts, his competitor for Everhart’s attention, and some other guy who hands a suitcase to Tony. With a loud click, the suitcase opens, and with it comes the Iron Man suit. Justin is forgotten by Orange Jumpsuit in favor of the more interesting enemy. Thank fuck. Justin hugs the wall again and makes it to behind the bar, crouching next to the waitress.

“Iron Man will get him,” Justin tells her, as an excuse for why he personally isn’t out there being a hero. He shouldn’t need an excuse. Being human and breakable should be enough.

Thankfully, within a few minutes, Iron Man wins the fight against Orange Jumpsuit, and Justin is able to breathe a sigh of relief. He has some strong words for Tony. They don’t seem to be coming out. Justin gasps for air and watches as the police force drags the enemy away.

Tony isn’t looking his way. His attention is centered on the object in his hand—is that an arc reactor that he’s crushing?—and his enemy’s deranged laughter as he’s being pulled away.

“You lose,” Orange Jumpsuit calls out, spitting blood from his mouth. “You lose, Stark!”

That’s ominous.

Justin takes a few minutes to gather his bearings—he’s earned them—by stepping into the men’s room once more. This time, there’s adrenaline pumping through his blood, not arousal, although maybe the two are two sides of a coin. Christ, he’s never seen the Iron Man suit in person. It’s an engineering marvel, the way it rose up to wrap around Stark’s body and the strength it gives him. Hammer knows with gut-wrenching certainty that Hammer Industries will never be able to achieve a similar feat. Maybe in a decade, when Tony has already moved on from this suit to something light years better, will Justin’s engineers be able to recreate this version. It stings. It’s always stung. He breathes through it.

When he leaves the men’s room again, Tony is long gone. A few words with the police later, Justin follows him to the police station where Orange Jumpsuit is being detained. A few agreements later, he watches through a one-way mirror as Tony enters Orange Jumpsuit’s room. The man is no longer wearing the orange jumpsuit; he is nude except for a pair of shorts and the tattoos curling across his body. Despite himself, Justin’s gaze lingers. It always has with men; he’s usually just much better at hiding it.

Tony saying “pretty decent tech” to a man who just tried to kill him, when he’s never said anything nearly so nice to Justin, causes him to grit his teeth. The prisoner’s comeback is decent. Justin has always enjoyed people taking Tony down a peg.

Justin only enjoys it up to the moment when the prisoner, named Vanko apparently, says, “Palladium in the chest—painful way to die.”

Fuck no. That’s—not something Justin is going to think about right now. He threw a chair at a madman for Tony and nearly got killed for it. He deserves something good out of this.

Once the conversation ends, Justin makes his way around until he’s leaning against the wall across from the door of the prisoner’s cell. Just in time, too, because Tony opens it a moment later.

There is surprise in Tony’s expression when he sees Justin. No pleasure. “Hammer, what the hell are you doing here?”

“I was attacked too, you know,” Justin tells him. “I have as good a right as anyone to be here. I was told they didn’t get anything off his prints, so who is he?”

“Just some idiot. Don’t get involved in this. He was after me, not you.”

And there it goes, the afterglow of sex. “Of course, _Anthony_. I had absolutely nothing to do with any of this.”

“You know that sounds like you hired a hitman to come after me.”

“I’d hire a better-quality hitman than that,” Justin replies.

It makes Tony laugh. Not what Justin was going for. Not bad, either. Tony says, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you were helpful during the battle.”

Justin preens. “I’m a helpful guy. Do you think you could repeat that when Christine Everhart is around? It would add to the spread. No? That’s alright, I’ll quote you.”

“I’m getting out of here,” Tony groans. He turns around and heads down the long corridor out of the prison, but he doesn’t walk so fast that Justin can’t catch up with him.

Which Justin does, giving Tony a considering look. Whatever else, he knows what it looks like when a man needs a distraction. He may not be up to Tony’s level of mechanical brilliance, but he can guarantee he’s as good as if not better of a businessman. He can read people well enough. “You know what you need? Some relaxation.”

“Oh yeah? Are you recommending a massage?”

Justin grins, throws an arm around Tony’s shoulders and ignores the way Tony tries to lean away from him. “Think bigger. We’re in Monaco, my friend. The Grand Prix racetrack could use some attention now that today’s races are over.”

Tony gives him a measuring look, eyebrows raised. He seems to be battling between two impulses before he says, “You know what? Okay. That’s the exact kind of relaxation I could use.”

“I’ll call Everhart, maybe she can get a photographer in...”

Tony takes Justin’s phone and slips it back into his pocket. “Nope.”

“I had to try.”

And with that, they walk out of the police station and into the fresh air of Monaco. For a moment, Justin considers asking Tony to wait and claiming to have forgotten something at the prison. He could use the time to pick Vanko’s brain about the technology he used to build his exoskeleton and whip, as well as that worrying parting shot about palladium poisoning. Justin could bet Vanko would be able to make an Iron Man knockoff more easily than Justin or any of the Hammer Industries engineers are capable of.

But he knows without a doubt that Tony wouldn’t wait for him.

Justin would return from the prison to find Tony gone, maybe already on his way back to the US, and this strange, incredible day would be over.

And that isn’t something he can live with.

Justin files the feeling in his chest under something to be thought about never and begins to talk about the beautiful city instead of dwelling on feelings of all things. Tony hasn’t dwelled on feelings a day in his life, Justin can bet. After a call to his assistant to get things set up, Justin and Tony arrive to find their two racecars ready for them, suits and helmets handed to them by the track’s attendants. The track is as exhilarating as Justin thought it would be. So is the way Tony laughs, open and hearty, and the way he clasps Justin on the back when Justin wins their first race. Justin preens at the knowledge that he is soaking up all of Tony’s time and attention. Take that, all his other business competitors and the many other people Tony refuses to make time for.

But this isn’t about business. Justin doesn’t know how to be around Tony without competing with him—not that Tony ever admitted to viewing him as a competitor—but he’s learning. It’s an unfortunate thing to learn about himself this late in the game: that after how long he’d struggled to get Tony’s attention, earning it is bittersweet since there’s no way Justin will be able to keep it.

For now, Justin drags Tony from the racetrack as the day winds down, and they end up in the restaurant of Tony’s hotel. It’s late. The restaurant is officially closed and they’re the only ones there.

It’s not a business dinner. It’s not a date. It’s something in the middle, something strange and tentative, and Tony is by moments either running on adrenaline or exhausted. He’s only a few years older than Justin and from the outside, his life is all glamour and comics books brought to life; he shouldn’t have that heaviness in his gaze.

Justin has never been able to resist getting more information on Tony. He’d done some research during stolen moments on his phone, but his main source of information sits in front of him. There’s no good way to sneak _so I heard you have palladium poisoning_ into the conversation, so Justin doesn’t bother with subtlety. “You look tired. Is it the palladium poisoning?”

Suspicion crosses Tony’s face before smoothing out again, “You eavesdropped on my conversation with Vanko.”

“Is it really eavesdropping when you obtain the permission of Monaco’s police to listen in?”

“Yes,” Tony dryly replies. “Tell anyone about the palladium and I will make you regret it. I’ll find a way to live long enough for that very purpose. Got it?”

“Fine, fine. Can you tell me about it, at least?”

Tony huffs, shaking his head. “Why would I tell you anything?”

 _We did have sex,_ Justin thinks, but that’s not a reason. Not really. Justin has had his own share of sex with people he hasn’t trusted. _I_ _’m your number one fan even though I hate your guts a high percentage of the time._ “Say what you will, but we’re the same, you and I. I bet you haven’t spoken a word of this to anyone. You’re just sitting around, giving away your company to your PA like that’s something normal people do, and laying down to die.”

“I’m not laying down,” Tony replies, this time with some anger. “I’ve tried every possible element, every combination, _everything_. Do you think I would just—”

“You haven’t seen a doctor.” Justin ignores Tony’s hiss of anger and says, “You may be the smartest man in the room, but you’re not an expert in all fields.”

“I can be one overnight,” Tony grumbles. He wipes a hand across his face. “What would I need a doctor for?”

“To make you comfortable?” Justin offers, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “To write you a prescription for some good drugs and help you through it?” He considers leaving it there for a moment, but he wants Tony to trust him. Trust means a bit of quid pro quo. “I had a heart attack three years ago.”

“That’s early,” Tony comments.

“I know. I wasn’t expecting it at all but looking through my old man’s medical history after the fact, I realized I should have been prepared. This Justin Hammer you see is Hammer 2.0, after I cut down on everything I possibly could after the attack. I even tried to go vegan.” At Tony’s pointed look toward Justin’s plate, Justin adds, “It didn’t last. But what I’m saying is, it was good to pay someone for absolute discretion who was on call 24/7 to listen to me call her in a panic in the middle of the night because I worked through dinner and forgot to take my medication. If you’re not going to talk about this with anyone else, then talk it over with a doctor. Let your board of directors and pretty CEO know that you’re undergoing medical treatment. Maybe stop trying to get yourself killed in that suit before the palladium gets to you.”

“I considered that a positive.”

“You would. And hell, maybe your doctor will have some ideas you haven’t considered.”

“Doubtful.”

“That’s why I made my other arguments first.” Justin looks him up and down, ignoring any attraction in favor of just looking at Tony. He does look tired. “Is there a way of mitigating the poisoning?”

“No. Extenuating circumstances.”

“Fine, be like that.” Justin hadn’t expected an actual answer, anyway. “But consider what I said, alright?”

After a moment, Tony nods once, sharp and shallow. He busies himself with his glass of wine while Justin tries not to think about the fact that they’re talking about the death of Tony fucking Stark. End of an era. End of all of this. Eventually, Tony says, “I thought you would be happy to have less competition.”

“As capitalists, we’re all about competition,” Justin says, then adds, “I don’t want you dead.”

“You’ve been trying to outdo me for over a decade.”

“That’s business,” Justin says with a wave of his hand.

“You’ve tried to sabotage Stark Industries on at least three occasions.”

“Also business.”

“So what’s personal, then?”

“Today feels pretty personal.”

“I don’t think I’m up to any more _personal_ today,” Tony admits.

Justin nods. He’d thought so, and it’s getting late, anyway. “Don’t be a stranger, Anthony.”

Justin’s eyes track the way Tony rubs his chest. When his gaze returns to Tony’s face, he sees the wry turn of Tony’s lips. Lips that were wrapped around Justin’s cock only hours ago. “Goodnight, Hammer.”

After Tony returns to his suite, Justin stays for a quarter of an hour, answering emails and coaxing his panicked PA who hadn’t been able to reach him most of the evening. In truth, he’d arrived in Monaco to make some business deals. Tony doesn’t count—they hadn’t discussed business all night, not to mention that even with some shared skin and advice, Justin doubts Stark and Hammer Industries will ever go into business together. Tonight isn’t a prelude to that kind of relationship.

Or any kind of relationship, as Justin reminds himself. He enjoys being a billionaire. He isn’t about to come out, then walk into the old boys’ club and assume he’ll be treated the same way. The Hammer name doesn’t go _that_ far. He’d put that disappointment behind himself years ago, or so he’d thought, and now here it is again.

Getting involved with Stark will lead to nothing good.

After a while, Justin returns to his hotel, which is only a short walk away, and finds the time for a short catch-up meeting with his PA before retiring for the night. The news is already brimming with stories about what happened at the restaurant. Reporters had been able to get some good shots of Vanko as he destroyed the doors to get inside, as well as some shots of Tony fighting back. Nothing on Justin—he must have been hidden due to the angle of the shots. Throwing a chair at someone isn’t particularly heroic, but it had been something. With an annoyed huff, Justin tells himself that even if his efforts had been noticed, they would have been buried under pictures of the Iron Man suit, anyway.

A week ago, Justin would have been one of the many people calling for the government to seize the Iron Man suits. Now, he turns off the TV and dreams of things he can’t quite admit to.


	3. Chapter 3

Blood toxicity level: 71%.

Number of politicians out for his tech, blood, and anything else they can get their hands on: a dozen very vocal ones with Senator Stern at the helm.

Time left on Earth: not enough.

Tony spends three hours making an omelet for Pepper. The kitchen area of his favorite private plane isn't completely soundproofed. Tony has never had any cause to realize this, but now as he tries to figure out how one is supposed to cook eggs on a plane, he can hear the news. Pepper is watching it avidly, nonstop, only pausing to change the channel between the big three. Fox News is ripping into him. It's not new. They've been doing it ever since Tony stood up and announced that he would never make another weapon for them. Frothing at the mouth anger is not a good look on anyone; he can't say why they keep trying to pull it off on the air.

Once he's spending longer on his phone than he is cooking, Tony waves one of the attendants over and receives a lovely omelet in under ten minutes. There's a light salad with some toast on the side. Tony hasn't been properly hungry in a while, but he orders a second one for himself.

"You didn't make that," Pepper says as he hands her a plate. She's smiling, though. He's always liked Pepper's smiles. There's no reason for her to be so high strung all the time. Or, now that he thinks about some of the comments various news anchors and reporters have made about Pepper's promotion to CEO, maybe there might be a few small reasons. Still not worth the long face.

"I made some effort. I sprinkled some parsley on top. The flight attendant was very proud of me." He picks at his food while Pepper begins to eat.

After years of being his personal assistant, there isn't anyone who knows Tony better. She tackles the question head-on. "Tony, what are you not telling me?"

"Lots of things. I don't tell you everything, you know that."

"You could start."

"You'd be bored. I forgot to brush my teeth this morning."

She takes another bite, raises an eyebrow. "I'm not bored yet."

"I've been lying about liking anchovies. I regret the fact that I never convinced you to model. I fucked Justin Hammer. I actually do know when your birthday is—I just feel like July is one of those months that flies by without you ever knowing what day it is and thus you forget birthdays left and right."

Pepper's expression doesn't change as she takes all of that in. An attendant brings two glasses of orange juice. Tony considers asking for a shot of vodka his, but he gets the feeling that Pepper wouldn't approve. And he does want to make this easier for her, less stressful, more fun. Being a CEO should be fun. She's one of the most powerful people in the world and he's pleased with himself for making it happen. He's bad at love, always has been, barely even knows how he feels about her on a good day, let alone a bad one. But this is something he can do instead of leaving the job to go to one of the board members when he's gone.

Instead of commenting on Tony's choice of partners—and Tony knows Pepper doesn't have a high opinion of Hammer—she just says, "That's not it, Tony."

Tony nods, glancing down at his plate and eating a bite as he thinks. Pepper's giving him this patient look that he's gotten from her a million times. He doesn't deserve her. Maybe that's the real reason why he can't bring himself to fall in love with her; every time he looks at her, she feels unreachable, both in her beauty and her expectations for him. He's tried to solve the equation, tried to add Tony Stark and Pepper Potts again and again. It's always fizzled out into failure the more he thought about it.

Tony isn't an easy man to love. But like Hammer said—and fuck he really is taking advice from Justin Hammer—he can make things easier on her by telling her now instead of letting her find him dead in his lab. "There's no easy way to say this, Pep."

"Say it the hard way."

"I'm dying."

"Stop joking." When Tony doesn't say a word, just looks at her, she brings her hand to her lips and murmurs, "You're not joking. Tony, what's wrong?"

"Palladium isn't meant to go in your chest cavity, let's put it that way," Tony says, unconsciously rubbing the inflamed skin before realizing he should try to comfort Pepper. But he can't, there's no comfort to give, so he gives her the cold, hard facts. Pepper's always been good with facts and numbers, even if she's never had an interest in science. He lays it all out for her and lets her judge it. Judge him.

When he finishes speaking, she hugs him tightly and she doesn't seem to find him wanting. "That's why you signed the company over to me. You knew you were dying. And you wanted..."

"I wanted you to have it. I didn't know what to do or who to trust. I still barely trust anyone. But I trust you. I think you would make a great president."

And then she's crying, just a little, and Tony pats her soft hair and wishes she'd stop. It's better when she asks questions, which she soon does, a rapid-fire barrage of everything Tony has already thought of and the assertion that they're going to see a doctor as soon as they step off this plane. The people in his life really seem to be big fans of doctors. Tony lets her talk through her shock. It's nothing he hasn't done, except Tony had been talking to JARVIS, to U, DUM-E, and, at the very end, to Justin.

It's not her first concern, but eventually, Pepper asks, "What do you want to do with the suits?"

"I don't know," Tony admits. "I don't want them in government hands."

"I'll protect them for you," Pepper offers quietly. "I know I don't really understand what draws you to them—but I promise, they're in safe hands."

They'll be unused hands, too, Tony thinks, even as he says, "Thanks, Pep. I mean it."

There will be no Iron Man after him, no one to take up his legacy. It feels excruciating to finally understand his father in such a way. Howard had always been so worried about his legacy and whether Tony could ever rise to it. And fuck the old man, but Tony did. He expanded the company, raked in more money than he knows what to do with, and is a pioneer in multiple fields. And yet he can pass the company to whomever he likes, but there is no one to pass the Stark name to. No one to trust the Iron Man suits with. He should destroy them now to make sure that neither his government nor anyone else can use them for ill. His legacy will be all the people who will remember him, everyone whose lives he'd saved in his short career of being the man in the tin suit. It will be all the people he's saved by ensuring that Stark Industries can never go back to selling weapons even after his death. There will be other weapons contractors, sure, but there will never again be new cream of the crop Stark Industries weapons.

After some more tearful conversations, Pepper says, "Justin Hammer, really? Him?"

"Him," Tony admits, making a face. "Pep, it was pretty good. I'm traumatized here."

"If there's one thing I'll never again have to deal with as CEO, it's kicking your one night stands out of your house."

"You didn't find it entertaining?"

"I found it embarrassing," Pepper replies. "And more effort than necessary. Quite a few of them didn't want to leave."

"It's the power of the Stark d—"

"Don't even finish that."

"I was going to say _dedication_."

"No, you weren't."

"No, I wasn't," Tony admits with a grin. Because he has to know, he can't simply go off into the unknown without knowing, he asks, "Have you ever thought about me and you?"

His impending death has made Pepper thoughtful. She doesn't brush off the question like she has the many times he's hit on her or argued that the two of them would be good together.

"Sometimes." She trails off, looks at him in a way that has him smile slightly. "It could never work out. We don't want the same things, Tony. We never have. You don't want to be with someone who scolds you and I don't want to be with someone who I feel like I have to argue with. Maybe some of that was the product of being your assistant, but not entirely. We're not a good fit."

"I know. But what a way to go." Is it possible to feel nostalgia for something he only could have had? He can see them together, all arguments and sex, coming together like two tectonic plates.

She kisses his cheek gently. Her perfume is a comforting scent. Nothing like Justin's, who seems to believe in the theory of somehow using smell to prove his manliness. Or whatever it is that has him overusing cologne. When she leans back, she opens a new page on her tablet, and says, "I'll make a list of everything that needs to be done. You just take it easy, alright?"

"You know me," Tony says, easy and glib.

"That will be all, Mr. Stark," Pepper pointedly replies, but her eyes are warm and a little red. 

Once they arrive in Malibu, Pepper asks to see the device in his chest. Tony makes a few comments about her finally giving in to his seduction—he can't even help himself—but he takes her down to his workshop. It's time for the core to be replaced, anyway. It's annoying, just how right Hammer was about telling people the truth being a comfort. Pepper by nature isn't particularly good at comforting people, but her presence and her understanding are enough. When JARVIS announces that Rhodey is approaching the building, Tony tells JARVIS to just send him down to the lab. One down, two to go.

"Like ripping off a bandaid," Tony says. With the core now replaced, Pepper grabs some lotion from her handbag and starts working it into his skin. "I don't think that's going to help."

"Will it hurt?"

"No." Her touch is gentle, careful, and the lotion is more soothing than it has any right to be.

Rhodey comes in hot, already talking about the government's plans to take the suits, and runs out of steam when he sees Tony and Pepper. "What's going on?" He gives them a second look, too, as if making sure he didn't read the room wrong and Tony and Pepper were getting ready to have sex. "Tony?"

Tony looks beseechingly at Pepper. She gives him a pointed look back. _Do it yourself._

Fine, fine. "On a scale of one to ten, I'm dying. You want to rub some lotion on my chest, too?"

After the initial disbelief and some convincing that no, it's really happening, Rhodey takes a seat on one of Tony's workshop stools and watches as Tony slips his shirt back on. Tony's in a room with his dream threesome and no one is even checking out his chest. It's disappointing. He ends up explaining the situation to Rhodey twice. Rhodey looks shell-shocked, but at least he isn't crying. Tony _really_ wouldn't know how to fix that. He doesn't know how to fix anything, not here and now, not with his ridiculous IQ and his engineering knowledge. It can't be fixed. He can't fix it. He's Tony fucking Stark. And he's dying.

And fuck if that isn't water lingering on the edge of Tony's eye. He blinks and it's gone, too small to have been noticeable, but in the very next moment, he finds himself with Rhodey's hand on his shoulder. His grip is firm and warm, and entirely too much.

"You're my best friend," Rhodey says, swallowing. "You were supposed to go out going two hundred on a highway or alcohol poisoning. I was personally betting on the alcohol poisoning."

"It's still possible. I'm a man of many skills." His alcohol poisoning skills are very honed after fuck-ups during his teens and twenties, many of which Rhodey had personally been there to pull him out of. He wouldn't be here without Rhodey, without Pepper, without JARVIS and his bots. This entire time, from the realization that the palladium is killing him up until the moment he came clean about the poisoning to Hammer, he's felt so alone. He isn't. Not even close, not at all, and he looks at Pepper in front of him and Rhodey next to him and JARVIS all around him, and he wonders how he could've possibly gotten so lucky. "I love you guys, you know that, right?"

"Right back at you," Rhodey says with a small, crooked smile. "It was never going to go any other way from the moment this ten-year-old brat got lost in my dorm room."

"I wasn't ten."

"You looked ten."

Pepper dabs some lotion on his nose. "You have some sunburn. Right there. I love you, too."

Tony clears his throat and can't look at either of them for a moment. He may have started the feelings talk, but he can't finish it. He may be Iron Man, but Iron Man is all metal, no softness, no give, and that may be one facet of Tony, but it's all gone right now. When Tony looks back at them, he says, "So, about the US government knocking down my door...?"

Rhodey lets him change the topic, but he doesn't put any distance between them by moving away. "I don't know what to tell you. You're in deep shit. I've been on the phone with the National Guard all day. I barely stopped them from rolling in here on tanks and taking the suits."

"The public wouldn't take that well."

"Neither would Stark Industries," Pepper says, a determined light in her eyes. And there it is—Pepper Potts, CEO. Tony really wants to watch her grow into the role, to be confident in it and so much better and more determined than he ever had been. "You should have called me. I would have been happy to tell them just how good our legal team is when it isn't focusing on Tony's scandals."

"That was only a dozen times," Tony demurs.

"I don't know how to stop them entirely. I bought us some time, but it's not enough, Tony. I know you thought that nobody would possess this technology for twenty years. It's not theoretical anymore. It's not in the future. Somebody had it yesterday."

"Not just somebody," Tony interjects. He'd done some research over on the flight here, but, "JARVIS?"

JARVIS is ready with a full slideshow of newspaper articles, images, and excerpts from various patents and published works. In his dry, British voice, he tells the story of Anton Vanko, a Soviet physicist who defected to the United States and ended up working with Tony's father on arc reactor technology. He was deported four years later after being publicly accused of espionage. It had been a big deal. A trusted top-level Stark Industries scientist who personally worked with Howard Stark accused of being a Soviet spy? He would have been kicked out of the country within days. There's no one to tell him the real story anymore. Whether Anton Vanko was truly a spy, or if he attempted to sell the technology without Howard's approval, or if Howard simply wanted to keep the technology for himself and knew it would be easy to have a Soviet physicist deported, Tony can't say. There's too much between the lines, too many decades since the event that sparked it all. 

Following his deportation to a country that did not hold defectors lightly, Ivan spent the rest of his life in poverty. He had one son, Ivan, who ended up serving a fifteen-year prison sentence after being convicted of selling weapons-grade plutonium to Pakistan. After which, he decided to take his revenge on the only Stark left. As JARVIS finishes his presentation, he adds, "And if I may add, Sir?"

Oh no. "You may not."

"As much as I am capable of it—I love you, too."

"I feel warm. Is it warm in here?"

"It is presently sixty-eight degrees, your preferred workroom temperature."

"Must just be me. I love you too, JARVIS." Tony ducks his head, tries not to feel like he's underwater. JARVIS is the closest he'll ever have to a kid, a proper legacy, and Tony is inconceivably grateful to hear those words from him.

"I am pleased to hear that you followed good advice," JARVIS continues, because he must delight in Tony's pained sounds of 'no, don't go there, not in front of Rhodey'. "It was not my good advice, was it, Sir?"

"JARV, light of my life," Tony says. He looks toward Pepper's amused, expectant expression and Rhodey's furrowed brow. "I got some advice from Justin Hammer."

"A Justin Hammer who has an unfortunate namesake?" Rhodey asks without hope. "Or the Justin Hammer you once called a living, breathing, piece of scrapyard junk?"

Tony's pained groan says it all. "Don't say it. I don't want to talk about it." He can barely admit to himself that there may be something more than weapon disasters and smarm to Justin Hammer. "What happens in Monaco, stays in Monaco."

"Alright," Rhodey says. At least half because he probably doesn't want to know either. 

While Pepper goes upstairs to make some calls and check on her attractive assistant, Tony keeps Rhodey for a few minutes. He waves him over to the other versions of the Iron Man suit and gestures to one of them. "Don't tell your bosses, but if there's an emergency, this one has your name on it. It's biometrically locked to you and only you—you probably don't want to know how I got your DNA—and no one else will ever be able to use it, nor will they be able to attach weapons to it as long as JARVIS has a connection to it. I'm going to be an adult about this, make a will and everything, make sure you and Pepper and Happy and the bots are taken care of. But this, it's yours. Don't name it something stupid."

"Tony..." Rhodey says, staring at the suit. "I don't think I can. I'm not Iron Man."

"No, you're not. You're Rhodey ‘Jim’ Rhodes. Who else would I trust with this?"

He finds himself being hugged again.

It may be a relief, may be necessary, but the only thing Tony can think is _I don't want to leave_. He's going to have to get over it. There's only 29% left. Over the next few days, he tells Happy about it too, which ends up being less tearful. They're both good at defusing situations. Too good, really, but that's a problem for another day. Tony invites him in for some beer and TV and a short, uncomfortable conversation about death.

For the first time in his life, his birthday celebration is canceled before it can even begin. Tony whines about not being able to fulfill the tradition of partying too much and passing out toward the end of the night. Instead, he has a quiet day in that's half strategizing with Pepper and Rhodey, half reminiscing on the good and the bad times, carefully avoiding anything too emotional. Tony can't take it. He has a weak heart. Too many people telling him they genuinely like him will give him a heart attack. As evening falls, Pepper and Rhodey leave for their respective homes, and Tony is left alone.

Only for a short time. There's a knock on the door and JARVIS dryly announces, "A Mr. Justin Hammer is here to see you."

Tony tries to find the dread and irritation he used to feel when faced with Hammer, but for some reason, he can't quite locate it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to stop angsting about my smut writing skills and just post this already.

Justin tries to talk himself out of it all day.

Tony’s party was canceled—a never before seen thing—and there would have been a reason for it. He could be too busy or too ill to party (unthinkable). He could have urgent Iron Man business that needs attending to. He could be not in the mood for guests (ridiculous). Justin has attended several of Tony’s parties in the past. They’re huge events, attended by every socialite worth their diamonds and every party girl or boy who wants a piece of Tony. It’s always just a piece, a bracelet and some fun, because everyone knows Tony Stark doesn’t get tied down. The parties are fun, though. It’s been a handful of years since Justin attended one; he feels too old for flashing lights and beautiful women who keep getting younger each year. Still, Tony is even older than him.

With a disgruntled sigh at his undeniably foolish state, Justin bites the bullet and gets into one of his cars. He doesn’t call for his driver. If he’s about to arrive at Tony’s mansion only to find it dark and empty, he doesn’t want anyone to know he went through the trouble. It would be easier if he had Tony’s number, but Tony’s private number is closely guarded secret.

It’s common knowledge where Tony lives. Come to Malibu for the sun, the celebs, and a glimpse of Stark’s mansion. Maybe even a glimpse of Stark himself. That’s what Justin is here for. He’d expected to show up at Tony’s birthday party tonight. Instead, here he is, rolling up to a mansion that isn’t surrounded by limousines or drunk celebrities. The windows aren’t dark at least. In fact, most of the downstairs lights seem to be on. He wonders if maybe the party wasn’t canceled at all, that maybe there’s simply a private one inside the house, but it’s quiet as Justin approaches. Too quiet for any party of Tony’s.

The door opens wide before Justin can ring the doorbell. It’s enough to lift some of his uncharacteristic self-doubt. As he walks inside, Tony approaches from the hallway past the staircase. He’s dressed down, barefoot and wearing jeans and a band t-shirt, a direct contrast to Justin’s third-favorite white and cream suit.

“Is that a gift?” Tony glances at the package in Justin’s hands.

“Belgian chocolate. I made a pit stop when I flew back from Monaco,” Justin says, raising it up like a peace offering. “Not that my presence isn’t enough of a gift.” He adds a smirk to his words, just enough arrogance to hopefully take Tony’s attention away from the fact that Belgium is more of a detour than a pit stop.

“I’ll take these and reserve judgment on your presence. Drink?”

“Sure,” Justin replies. He follows Tony back to a living room area, where there is an extensive bar with shelves of liquor in the back, and couches that angle toward two large-screen televisions. One is on and muted, turned to Fox News, while the other is dark.

Tony frowns toward the TV, which seems to take that as a sign to immediately turn off. “That’s Pepper’s thing. I swear, she has a news addiction.”

“Anyone as high up in business as us tends to have one,” Justin says in reply. “Whether we get it from the source or from our assistants.”

Tony steps behind the bar. “I am no longer part of that club, thank fuck, so no news talk around me. Senator Stern can hang himself on his greed. Now, something tells me you like cocktails.”

“Something with rum,” Justin advises instead of trying to deny it. He watches Tony mix two drinks, his gaze on Tony’s hands the entire time. He’s never been in Tony’s famed workshop, never will due to the various legal and privacy issues involved in the idea, but he can watch him now and know his deft fingers would be just as enthralling around a tool as they are around a bottle. Tony brings the drinks over, passes one to Justin, their fingers briefly entwining. “Thanks.”

“Thank me after you try it,” Tony replies. They’re on the same couch, but they’re not sitting anywhere close enough.

Justin takes a sip, then another. He relaxes into the couch, watching Tony with half-lidded eyes. It’s getting late. “It’s good.”

Tony makes a slight imitation of a bow. “ _I_ _’m_ good.”

“Are you?” Justin asks, glancing him over. He looks better than he did last time Justin saw him, but still. It’s the end of May and there is no birthday blowout.

“That better be a come-on instead of concern about my health.”

“It can be both. I can multitask.”

“I’m sure you can.” Tony rolls his shoulders, takes another sip, and says, “I’ve seen a doctor now. Still dying.”

Justin inclines his head. It’s not like he expected differently. Still, it’s galling to think that anything but Tony’s own daredevil stunts can take him away from this world. It shouldn’t be like this. But it is, and it seems there is nothing either of them can do about it. “You want to—”

“No,” Tony says.

Justin huffs, something like a smile tugging at his lips. He hadn’t been about to ask if Tony wanted to talk about it, but it looks like Tony’s had enough talking for a while. “—to open that box of chocolates?”

“Yes,” Tony says, and glares at him without any heat.

Or maybe, without that sort of heat. There’s the heat of the liquor, the heat of whatever it is that he always feels around Tony. It’s amazing how quickly the heat of anger vanishes. Tony snags the wrapper of the package on his short nails, opening it with little grace. He checks the chocolate guide before choosing his preferred piece, then leans over to slide the package to Justin. Justin means to reach for the package. He really does. Instead, his fingers graze Tony’s hand, and he leans in not for the chocolate, but to press a kiss against the edge of Tony’s lips. Just a gentle brush. It’s nothing on the heat curling up deep inside him, making a place for itself there like an extra heart beating rapidly against his ribcage. It will be something Justin will have to deal with once Tony is gone from his life—whether through death or through choice—but for now he tilts his head back into the couch while Tony kisses him fully. His eyes half-lidded, he watches Tony push the chocolates and his drink onto the side table. He shelves Justin’s drink too. Were it not for the kiss, Justin might complain. It was a good drink.

But there’s liquor and chocolate on Tony’s tongue, and a warm, surprisingly hard body half in his lap. Justin keeps his hands away from the center of Tony’s chest, remembering Tony’s firm guiding of his hands last time, but he touches Tony’s shoulders, his sides, his ass. He’s seen Tony’s ass a million times. He’s never been able to touch it like this, to work his fingers into it. Even clothed, it’s a marvel. Justin hadn’t been able to appreciate it last time around, but right now, they’re alone, and they won’t be interrupted, and Tony keeps making these little sounds into Justin’s mouth.

“Still straight?” Tony murmurs, pulling away just enough to smirk.

“You’re such a dick,” Justin tells him, pinching that same ass he’s been appreciating and turning his head slightly from Tony’s kiss. “It’s not that easy when your name isn’t Stark.”

“Fine, fine,” Tony says as he kisses Justin’s jaw, the curve of his lips. “I know it’s different. I know.” An apology through gesture instead of words, and his next kiss is softer, no bite to it. Justin’s resolve crumbles. That was never in question. They kiss for a while, bodies moving against each other without real purpose just yet. Justin is hard, has been for a while, but the wait is as good as what comes next. Tony breaks first, saying, “I have a bedroom. Let’s use it this time.”

“You just can’t wait to see the Hammer again, can’t you,” Justin says, kissing away Tony’s pained groan. He’s never said it to another partner; he has some class, thank you very much. But it’s second nature to needle at Tony, to push and see how far he can go, even if they’ve mutually clicked the safety back on and their barbs are lighter than they’ve ever been.

“You are the worst. This is the worst extended decision ever.” Except Tony keeps kissing him, only breaking the kiss to tug Justin off the couch.

Before he leads him to his bedroom, Tony snags another piece of chocolate, while Justin tries to wash away some of his arousal by downing the rest of his drink. It doesn’t help. He’s still staring at Tony’s ass. He’s still reeling from the fact that he can touch it, that he already has and soon will again. Tony Stark is already the image of arrogance and yet Justin would worship his body if asked.

Despite his one-track mind, Justin glances around through the open doors as he follows Tony upstairs. The door of Tony’s room is already open. Justin huffs at the size. “You’re too short to need a California King.”

“Gotta make room for my orgies somehow,” Tony says with a wink. He opens the bathroom door, through which Justin can see a sliver of the sink, and says, “Give me a second. You’re not naked enough to fuck me yet, so get on with that.”

Justin’s mouth goes dry. Fuck. He’d been hoping that’s what Tony would want, but it’s another thing to hear Tony say it. He ignores the faint sound of water through the door and shrugs off his suit jacket. He should have left it in the car; he’s too warm all over to have it on him for a second longer. His socks and shoes also go. He drapes everything on one of the armchairs by the bay window. The curtains are closed, but Justin takes a peek to see the ocean. It is vast and dark, without even the light of a stray yacht coursing through the water. By the time Tony exits the bathroom, Justin’s down to his boxers, and Tony’s only wearing the soft band shirt whose fabric Justin is now very familiar with.

“You don’t have to keep it on,” Justin offers. “It’s fine.” He remembers the way Tony had rubbed at his chest, the way he won’t let him touch it. Whatever it is, he can’t see himself leaving this room.

Tony shakes his head, tugging once at the bottom of his shirt before putting his hands on Justin’s hips. “It’ll ruin the mood.”

Tony runs his thumbs over the top of the waistband, where cloth meets skin, and Justin shivers at the touch despite himself. Justin makes a noise of disagreement at Tony’s words, but the next thing he knows, he’s being kissed while Tony walks him toward the bed. His boxers get pulled off sometime after, and then it’s just skin on (mostly) skin. The slide of their cocks against each other, the way Tony’s goatee feels against his skin. (The near elbow in the face that Justin gets when Tony reaches for the condoms and lube. The way he can feel something hard behind Tony’s shirt, but has to ignore it.) Despite the accidental proximity of Tony’s elbow, Justin enjoys the sight of Tony’s biceps, as much as he can see them through the shirt. “Nice.”

“Iron Man, baby,” Tony says, flexing his muscles. Justin makes a face, but it’s fleeting since Tony takes a moment to feel up Justin’s thighs, and adds, “Also not bad.”

“I run. Didn’t you hear about me running in the Boston Marathon?”

“Publicity stunt,” Tony complains.

“Iron Man is a publicity stunt,” Justin says, rolling his eyes.

“Iron Man is a marvel of science and engineering and the reason for our currently peaceful planet.”

Tony reaches for the lube, but Justin takes it from him, wanting to do that part himself. “Lie down, you marvel.”

“Maybe I will,” Tony says through a huff of laughter, lying on his stomach and wiggling his ass in Justin’s direction.

It’s a very pretty picture. Justin leaves kisses down Tony’s neck and as much of his skin as his shirt allows, then can’t help himself. He presses one kiss against Tony’s cheeks as he massages them, then another kiss, and the next is just a foregone conclusion. As is spreading Tony’s cheeks and kissing his pretty hole, all the while Tony makes little noises and lifts his ass closer to Justin’s face, digging his knees into the mattress. He goes limp into the mattress when Justin starts licking him in earnest, sucking at the skin of Tony’s hole. Every sound Tony makes, no longer small little noises but full-on moans, just makes it hotter, and Justin takes his time with it until the rim of Tony’s hole is slick and ready. He doesn’t leave Tony’s balls out entirely, nor his cock, but most of his attention is laser-focused on Tony’s ass. Tony has no complaints. By the time he works lube and fingers into the equation, Tony is hot, slick, and open for him, and Justin takes a long moment to just _look_ at him while he pulls a condom over his cock.

Tony cranes his head back at him and says, “Come _on_ ,” and there’s no arrogance in his voice, no playfulness, just plain and utter need. The kind of need that Justin has reduced him to.

“You look _so_ good like this,” Justin says.

The only thing that would be better is if he could see Tony’s back. It’s good enough now either way, so close to perfect that he’s aching at the sight of him. He’s helpless against Tony’s allure, and it doesn’t matter since they both want the same thing. He fucks Tony open, shallow thrusts leading to longer ones, sheathing himself in Tony. It’s too good, too hot, too fucking perfect, and Tony does nothing but urge him on. He’s just as loud as Justin thought he would be. He’s spent a lot of time thinking about this ever since their first time. Since forever, it feels like, because he remembers seeing magazine spreads of Tony Stark in his youth, and even back then when Justin had been in denial about how much he finds men attractive, he hadn’t been able to look away.

He comes on a deep thrust and works Tony over on his side, reaching for Tony’s cock at the same time as Tony himself. A few strokes and Tony spills over. Justin’s jaw may be sore but he wants to wrap his lips around Tony’s cock. Next time, maybe.

After a few moments where they each catch their breath, Justin gives in to the need to clean up. There’s a basket of sealed one-use toothbrushes in Tony’s bathroom, which he makes use of. Tony joins him after a moment. His hair is messier than Justin has ever seen it, and he’s all bright-eyed after sex. It’s cute.

“You staying?” Tony asks. It’s an offer as much as it is a question.

“Sure,” Justin says. As if he’d want to miss out on a repeat of this tomorrow morning.

The bed is big enough for both of them to sleep without touching. Tony still reaches for him and Justin lets him, feeling too much of something that he can’t name, can’t face, not even in the dark. Sex just makes things complicated.

Tony is silent for a long while. By the time he speaks, his voice is almost back to normal. Not filled with passion, but some of the warmth still remains. “You know you could come out if you wanted. I’d publicly support you. Stark Industries would, too.”

“I know, Tony,” Justin says. It’s easier to consider it in the dark without brushing it away as he would in the light of day.

“People say all sorts of bullshit, but… It was worth it for me. I’m no good with secrets. I couldn’t keep Iron Man a secret for more than a day, and I sure as hell couldn’t keep my sexuality a secret.”

Justin turns on his side to find Tony already in the same positions. In the dark of night, he can only see Tony’s outline. “I’ve kept this secret for nearly forty years, Tony. I could keep it for forty more.”

“Do you really want to?”

“Not everyone can be Iron Man,” Justin replies. He smiles at Tony’s disgruntled huff even though Tony won’t see it. “Some of us are just simple multi-millionaire CEO weapons contractors for the US government.”

“It’s just a shame, you know?”

Justin makes a small sound of assent. It’s the best he’s got. Sure, it’s a shame that he has to choose between business and pleasure, but he made his choice years ago and he hasn’t changed his mind about it since. He’s happy, more or less, even content. Justin is long past the point of feeling shame over his desire of men. He may wish it were different, and he may not be shouting it from the rooftops or attending Pride, but he’s not ashamed of it. He wants what he wants—and right now, he wants to be a billionaire. “I know.” It strikes him then that he forgot to say it earlier, so he says it now. “Hey, Tony? Happy birthday.”

“Thanks,” Tony says. He seems to give up the ghost of staying apart, hooking a leg around Justin’s and inching closer.

He continues to get closer throughout the night. Justin wakes up a few times, unused to sleeping next to another person, but he quickly falls asleep again each time. He’s tired, sated, pleased. 

In the morning, he wakes slowly, and untangles himself from Tony. The blackout curtains leave the room dark despite what he knows must be bright morning light behind the curtains. Tony looks peaceful as he sleeps, some of the exhaustion having faded during the night. He’s almost entirely covered by blankets, only emerging from the nose up and with one leg hanging out of the covers. Justin slips into yesterday’s pants and his undershirt, and heads downstairs.

He’s used to sprawling mansions, but it still takes a few minutes to locate Tony’s kitchen. He skips the fridge, only interested in caffeine, and stops in front of what could either be a supercomputer or a coffeemaker. Maybe both.

“Do I need a password to use this?” Justin says under his breath, poking at the thing.

That’s when the coffeemaker decides to speak to him. “What kind of coffee would you like, Mr. Hammer?”

Justin is still too sleepy to be overly concerned about talking coffeemakers. Talking _British_ coffeemakers. “Latte with coconut milk.” The machine comes to life before his eyes. Justin is only directed to place a mug under the nozzle. Within moments, he has a latte in his hand. “You’re a very smart coffeemaker,” Justin praises. He’s used to this sort of thing. He has a chihuahua. He knows how to give praise when it’s due.

The coffeemaker gives a puff of air, and replies, “Thank you. I am JARVIS, Mr. Stark’s security system.”

“You’re a very smart security system then,” Justin says through a yawn. He takes a sip. “Very, very smart.”

He takes a seat at the counter and slips his phone out to do some work. His phone is already connected to the wifi network, which is very thoughtful and not at all creepy. Whatever—Tony has verbally disdained Justin’s designs so many times that he doubts he has to worry about corporate espionage here. The view is gorgeous when he makes his way onto the balcony, leaning against the railing and staring out into the horizon. It’s peaceful here, a word that he’d never thought could pertain to anything about Tony Stark.


	5. Chapter 5

Tony opens his eyes. The first thing he hears is JARVIS’s voice. It is comforting in its familiarity, quiet enough not to be jarring if he were hungover, which he isn’t. He checks and finds that Justin is no longer where Tony last saw him before falling asleep beside him in the dead of night.

JARVIS says, “It is 8:37 AM and 62 degrees in Malibu. You have three new messages and forty-two new emails. None are of high importance. Your guest is still within the manor. He is on the deck.”

For a moment, Tony had assumed Justin already left, which would have, should have, been fine. He heaves a full-body yawn and stretches, feeling pleasantly disheveled. “Where’s the list of meetings I’m late for?”

“Ms. Potts elected to cancel everything but the most urgent meetings. You have one meeting on Wednesday.”

“Tell Pepper to stop being nice to me. It makes me feel weird.”

“Of course. Would you like me to request that Mr. Hammer leave, or will he be joining you for breakfast?”

Tony groans and feels around for a pillow, which he promptly throws over his face.

“I do not recommend suffocation at this time, Sir. Perhaps you would like a cup of coffee?”

Tony releases a wordless groan into his pillow. He doesn’t know who he’s feeling grumpy at. Maybe at himself. He wants Justin to stay more than he wants Justin gone, which is entirely too weird. Maybe he can blame this on the palladium poisoning. Does palladium poisoning cause a sudden onset of pleasant feelings toward someone one formerly hated? It could be a little-known side effect. Tony considers it, thinks about Stern, and nope. He still hates Stern with a passion. On JARVIS’s suggestion, he checks his blood toxicity again.

78%. If he looks closely, he can see the still-healing little pinpricks on his fingers where he took blood from over the past weeks. Fuck, 22% left. He’d rather die in a car accident like his parents. At least then he wouldn’t have to die at this slow, torturous pace. But there’s no use moping around about it now, not when Justin is downstairs. He can mope later.

Tony picks up a cup of coffee in the kitchen, already brewed thanks to JARVIS, and finds Justin still on the deck. He’s sitting at the deck table, his feet propped up and his phone in his hand. He looks comfortable. Too comfortable, Tony should think, but he doesn’t. Instead, he sits down and takes a sip of his coffee. It’s weaker than he usually likes it, something recommended by his doctor and happily taken into action by JARVIS. Tony is surrounded by cruelty.

“Anything interesting?” Tony asks, nodding at Justin’s phone.

“There was an engineering issue that led to an explosion in my building’s main labs,” Justin says through a sigh. “It’s under control now.”

A barb about Hammer Industries’ incompetence is on his tongue, but fuck it. It would be easy to let that old antagonism in, but that’s not what Tony wants. “I’ve set my workshop on fire at least half a dozen times. It’s practically a hobby. One of my bots always has a fire extinguisher ready just in case and is quite happy to douse me with it even when I’m not on fire.”

When Justin asks what he means by bots, Tony pauses but tells him that they were a programming experiment from his twenties that he’s been unable to let go of. He’d hoped to avoid having to use a human assistant by programming his own, to not that great success. No mention of JARVIS, no mention of them being learning programs, no mention of how far they’ve come. As he talks, he wonders if this is the moment he should pull out a confidentiality agreement. He’s never bothered with them for his one-night stands. He’s also never let a rival CEO wander through his house, either. JARVIS would have mentioned if Justin tried to get into his workshop, but Tony still takes a moment to wonder what the hell he’s doing.

It’s corporate espionage prevention 101 to not be an idiot and guard your projects and intellectual property. Tony’s pretty damn careful with it, considering that some of the ideas he tinkers with are nowhere near safe to let out into the world. Besides, Stark Industries would have his ass if one of their rivals—or god forbid the government—got their sticky fingers all over his tech. But it’s not like Tony’s getting into the specifics. And he doubts this is Justin’s version of a honeypot.

Tony’s phone screen lights up. It’s not a call. It’s the SI symbol glowing on the screen and JARVIS’s voice saying, “Sir, I recommend turning on the news immediately.”

“JARVIS?” Tony asks, already on the move.

Justin is a step behind him.

One of the TV screens turns on when Tony steps back into the house. Tony hears the sound and sees the screen once he turns a corner. He doesn’t recognize the reporter, but he does know that location.

“Isn’t that Monaco’s police department?” Justin asks.

“Sure is,” Tony replies, distracted. There is a giant fire wreaking havoc throughout the building and the place is total chaos.

The reporter continues to speak. Tony already knows what she’s going to say. He knows which way his luck swings, especially now. He grits his teeth, and the reporter says, “We have been able to confirm that only three people are unable to be located. Ivan Vanko, who was being held awaiting trial for his attacks on prominent American businessman Tony Stark, and Eugene and Liam Bell, who were arrested yesterday on charges of burglary.”

“Fuck,” Justin breathes. “You don’t think...?”

“That he’s eager to try again? Second time’s the charm? Out and angry? I don’t doubt it.” There’s no way in hell that Vanko would be able to get into the US legally, but there are other ways, and Tony doesn’t doubt that he has friends in low places. “JARVIS, keep me updated.”

Justin turns a shade paler than usual. “You don’t think he’s angry with me, right?”

“To be honest, I doubt he even knows who you are.”

“Good. Although of course he should know who I am. I’m _Justin Hammer_.” Justin looks between Tony and the TV with a scowl that looks like nothing more than a pout. It’s a little bit cute, god help him.

“Don’t remind me,” Tony sighs under his breath. Justin Hammer. Justin fucking Hammer. He picks up a tablet to glance through any other information that’s not currently being shown on the screen. “It looks like the breakout happened only twenty minutes ago. There was an explosion in the jail cells and those three broke out. Nothing about where they went or any leads the police may have.” And Tony is in Malibu, on the other side of the planet from the mess. Even if he took his fastest jet, it would take him hours to arrive. If Vanko’s smart, he’ll be long gone by then, the trails all cold. And Ivan Vanko, like Anton Vanko, is brilliant. Dammit.

“You need to be ready for him to arrive,” Justin says, still watching the screen. “It won’t be today, probably won’t be tomorrow, but it will be _soon_. He has too much anger to play the long game.” His brow furrows, then smooths. “I could’ve sworn that man looked familiar.”

“Vanko?”

“No,” Justin says. “One of the suits.”

Tony looks up from his tablet, glancing at each of the people on screen. Reporters, firefighters, military, some suits, some shots of people in the crowd. No one who he immediately pegs as Vanko, who has a distinctive face and frame. Tony starts reading again, and Justin doesn’t come to any conclusions either. They sit next to each other for a while. Tony isn’t scared of Vanko—please, he’d beaten him the first time around and he can do it again—but he’s worried about putting on the suit again. At this level of blood toxicity, even fifteen minutes as Iron Man could kill him if he pulls off some of his bigger stunts.

It’s the first time Tony has ever not wanted to put on the suit. He’s fully aware that his time is coming. It’s just that he wants some more time to wring the last bits of happiness out of life. Maybe some more orgasms, too, and he has someone specific in mind.

But it won’t be bad, dying while in his armor. Tony’s greatest creation and his final resting place. It’s morbid, but that doesn’t make it any less likely. He sighs deeply and looks up to find Justin watching him with sympathy in his gaze. Whether it’s for the palladium poisoning or for the fact that Tony has a terrorist after him in the first place, Tony doesn’t know, and he doesn’t need anyone’s pity. He doesn’t _need_ it, but he doesn’t mind the way Justin’s hand settles over his own, warm and steady.

“You’re going to be fine, Tony,” Justin says.

Tony has been in freefall for weeks, months, maybe all his life. He’s not going to be alright. But, “Vanko isn’t going to be what kills me. I mean it. If I’m going to go out, it’s not going to be at the hands of someone trying to kill me for whatever my dad did. If I’m going to die, it’s going to be all about me.”

Justin gives a huff of incredulous laughter at that. “It has to be all about you, does it?”

“Who else?” Tony jokes as though they’re not talking about his funeral. He wonders if he should write his own funeral invitations. He could add a little personalized message in each one. Tony’s never been subtle about what he thinks of anyone, but he could appreciate a reason to go all out. Justin would be invited as he and Pepper are the closest thing to grieving widows. His ideas for Justin’s personal message come out flat. The way he thinks of him has changed so much, so quickly, that nothing feels right anymore except the way Justin touches him.

JARVIS’s voice breaks through the moment. “Sir, approaching the front door are Ms. Potts and Ms. Rushman.”

“Send them in,” Tony says. “I guess Pep heard the news.”

“Undoubtedly,” JARVIS replies.

Justin looks toward the ceiling with curiosity. He doesn’t ask, or comment on how Tony’s security system is more articulate and responsive than strictly necessary. By the time Pepper and Natalie find them, Justin’s hand is back to resting on the back of the couch and he isn’t sitting quite so close. Closeted, Tony remembers with an internal sigh, and says, “Justin, this is Pepper, my brilliant new CEO and her ever-present shadow, Natalie Rushman. Ladies, Justin Hammer.”

“Hello again, Justin,” Pepper says, looking between them without commenting. She takes a seat in one of the armchairs while Natalie leans against the chair’s side with a quieter greeting. “Tony, have you heard?”

“I’ve heard. Look on the bright side—I’m sure the police will find him soon.”

“Do you believe that?” Pepper looks toward the screen, where police are shown searching the streets of Monaco. “Because I’ll believe it when you will.”

“I don’t _not_ believe it,” Tony says. “There’s a nonzero possibility that he could be caught without any intervention on the part of Iron Man.”

“Iron Man is out of commission,” Pepper replies, firmly.

Tony sighs, looks at her, watches as she looks back at him. She’s so fierce, so firm. Hopeful. Despite everything that Tony’s research and the doctor they’d consulted had told them, she still believes in a cure. That if they drag this out just a little longer, then someone will have an _aha_ moment and Tony will be saved. Tony has never been that hopeful. _Iron Man isn_ _’t going to be out of commission until I’m dead,_ Tony thinks, but it feels cruel to say that to someone who will grieve for him soon. As gently as he can, he says, “If he shows up and brings out his whip—not a euphemism—Iron Man is going to meet him here. I don’t fancy being electrocuted to death. Do you?”

“No,” Pepper admits, breathing out deeply. “I hate seeing you be hurt.”

“What about police protection?” Justin asks, looking between them. “If you weren’t Iron Man, you would have already been offered it. You can request it. You have cause.”

“Iron Man is supposed to protect people, not sit around being protected,” Tony grumbles.

“Justin’s idea is excellent.” Pepper shoots him an approving look. “Even superheroes need protection. There’s no shame in that, Tony.”

“I’m not ashamed. Who said I was ashamed?” Tony leans slightly away from Natalie, who’s looking more closely than necessary at Tony. Not on his eyes, but on the uncovered area of his neck. Tony wonders if it’s time to start wearing turtlenecks to hid the creeping poison in his veins. Fuck. He doesn’t need that. Who even wears turtlenecks? They’re a nightmare. Maybe he can invest in a collection of scarves and start a new fashion trend. “In fact, I’ve never felt shame in my life.”

“I can believe that,” Justin says.

Their eyes meet. Tony thinks of the other night and feels no shame in it at all. Maybe it shows on his face—it probably does—because Justin huffs in his direction and looks away, a hint of a smile on his lips. Tony likes seeing him like that, easygoing instead of jealous or competitive. If they ever get competitive again, Tony wants it to be about sex. If Tony has his way, they’ll have at least a few more morning afters until everything catches up to him. Whether it’s the palladium or Vanko that will get there first, Tony can’t say.

In his distraction, he barely notices Pepper ask Natalie to return to the office and research any additional protection Tony might need. She’s pretty as she leaves, but Tony’s too distracted to properly watch her. JARVIS isn’t distracted by the flesh and encourages her to continue on her way when she lingers just past Tony’s line of vision. Tony shares a look with Pepper. Natalie may be hot, but there’s something about her, and it’s not her shade of lipstick.

Tony clears his throat. “No police. Come on, he wasn’t much of a fight the first time around. I’ll be fine. I have all my suits here.” He looks around for an excuse to end this line of conversation and sees his phone, which is vibrating with Rhodey’s name on the screen. “JARVIS, get him on the other TV screen.”

“Rhodey my man,” Tony calls out. “You’re on candid camera.”

There’s a curse and a shuffle of papers, then Rhodey sets his phone down with the camera facing toward him. “You know I hate it when you do that. I wasn’t video-calling you.”

“But then how would I see your face?”

“You wouldn’t,” Rhodey says, dryly. With a hello toward the rest of the room, he adds, “You’ve heard about Vanko?” He doesn’t stop long enough for Tony to acknowledge his question. “I watched the reports and then I watched the footage a couple more times to be sure. There’s something weird going on.”

“Yeah, it’s the fact that there’s a crazy person wanting to whip me to death. Not even with kinky whips.”

“You don’t like kinky whips, either,” Rhodey says, rolling his eyes. “I can’t believe I know that. If there’s a way to forget everything I know about your sex life, I would be a happy man. Anyway, I recognized one of the guys on the scene.”

Justin straightens. “I knew there was something about them.”

“You should—one of them is on Senator Stern’s security team. I went through the rest of what I could find and got two men who work directly under General Meade. To my knowledge, we don’t have any active troops in Monaco, and Stern’s security should be with Stern, who’s reported to be visiting family here in California. None of them were in uniform, which is an even bigger red flag. They shouldn’t be there and they know it. It made me wonder what kind of job they could be doing when they were in the earliest footage, less than half an hour after the breakout.”

Tony rubs the skin around the reactor. It aches like a bitch, and he can feel some of the blood leaving his face. “Shit.” Rhodey won’t say it. It must be killing him to even have to suspect it. He’s a military man through and through. “Stern and Meade are the most vocal of the assholes gunning for my suits. If they’re desperate enough, they might’ve broken him out of prison for that diabolical brain of his.”

“Wouldn’t they have arranged for a transfer instead?” Justin asks, furrowing his brow. “They could have had him tried here. He attacked an American citizen. He’s a threat to the country. It would’ve flown.”

“Not if they wanted it kept under wraps—and if they wanted to keep him.” Tony’s voice is grim, his former humor mostly faded. “A trial, especially one involving me, is public, loud, messy. Who knows when and how it would end. But if they get him in here in secret and no one knows to look for him... I didn’t think they wanted my arc reactor technology to this extent.”

“It can’t be officially sanctioned,” Pepper says. She sounds spooked and her gaze keeps turning to the other screen, which has the news muted.

“It isn’t,” Rhodey confirms. “It can’t be. But the fact that Stern and Meade have gone off-reservation to this extent? That they might have kidnapped someone to get their hands on the closest thing they can get to Tony’s tech? Fuck, I don’t know what to do with it. I can’t prove a thing. Meade is my superior. Stern is a senator. I don’t expect much from senators, but this?” He drags a hand across the back of his neck. “I’m out of my depth.”

“Good thing we’re right in mine. I excel at pissing people off.”

“We need proof, Tony. They’re not gonna tell you a thing. They won’t tell me anything, either, and you know I tried. I’m seen as too close to you after I spoke up in your favor at the senate hearing. I’ve been getting flack about it ever since. We need someone...” Rhodey trails off. When he speaks again, he’s not looking at Tony. “We need someone they trust. Someone who as far as they know has nothing to do with you or your suits—in fact, someone who hates you.”

Tony joins Rhodey in turning his attention toward Justin.

“No,” Justin tells them, firmly and immediately. “I will not lose every single one of my government contracts, my company’s livelihood, on the wild guess that a general and a senator are involved in kidnapping. I will _not_.”

Tony gives him an imploring look. “Just think about it: New York Times, first-page headline: Justin Hammer uncovers unlawful imprisonment and government conspiracy. You’ll be a hero.”

“I’ll be a pariah, that’s what I’ll be. Do you know how many contracts I’ve gotten through Stern?”

“All the better! He trusts you. Come on, Justin.” Tony continues in that vein, trying to find a way to convince him. “It will be perfectly safe.”

“Oh god, I didn’t even think of that, what if they kidnap me, too?”

“You’re the CEO of a major company. No one is going to kidnap you.”

While Tony works on convincing Justin, inching closer and closer as he tries to find the right argument, Rhodey and Pepper have a quiet conversation. Tony tries to ignore them, although he rolls his eyes at how Rhodey mouths ‘Justin,’ to Pepper when they think he isn’t paying attention. And Pepper mouths back, ‘I know.’ He has terrible friends. Real friends would ignore his sudden descent into insanity. He hadn’t even realized Justin’s first name had slipped out. Tony has no idea where he got that from. Maybe he needs to wash his mouth with soap. It’s worse than the worst of curses. He’s getting attached. He needs to stop that. Immediately.

Eventually, with a huff of aggravation, Justin gives in. “Fine. I’ll see what I can do. No promises. None. I’m not going to endanger my life or my company. I’ll just—ask a few questions. That’s all.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” Tony placates. It’s not. It never is. He’s always been in the habit of asking for as much as he can get and more besides.

“But you owe me.”

“What do I owe you?” Tony raises both eyebrows. He knows what he’d _like_ to owe Justin.

“I’ll think of something,” Justin says, standing from the couch and reaching out with one hand to help Tony up.

Tony takes him up on it, walking him to the door. There’s no one in the corridor, so Tony feels secure in kissing Justin. “For good luck.” It’s a short kiss. He’s trying to be good. He really is.

Justin cups Tony’s chin, his hand warm and his eyes inviting. “That’s not a good luck kiss.”

“It isn’t?” Tony asks, lips curling up. He leans forward in anticipation.

Their next kiss is much, much better. It’s a proper good luck kiss—or maybe a getting lucky sort of kiss, even if that’s not in Tony’s immediate future. It’s still up there on his list of priorities. More so now with the way Justin kisses him, thorough and lovely and a little filthy. Tony has things to do today and so does Justin. They can’t spend the whole day in bed even if Tony is strongly considering trying to get Justin back into it for an hour.

When Justin leaves, Tony stands in the hallway for a moment, shaking himself out of the mood.

The next person to kiss him is Pepper. An hour after Justin leaves, she presses a kiss to his cheek before she heads back to Tony’s old office. Before she leaves, she adds, “Be careful with him. I don’t say this as your friend, but as your CEO. If Hammer Industries releases their own arc reactor based on some notes he finds here—”

“I’m not that stupid, Pep.”

“But you do scribble ideas onto the closest surface when you get inspired,” Pepper says, waving a hand toward the area of the living room. “Come on, Tony. I worked for you for years. You write them down, shove them in a drawer or a trash bin, and that’s the end of it. All he has to do is get overly curious take one of the scribbled napkins home with him.”

“And show it to an engineer as good as I am or better? Because that’s the only way Hammer Industries will be able to decipher even part of it.”

“They might find one,” Pepper says in a no-nonsense tone. “Everyone’s clamoring for a piece after what happened with Vanko. And with what could be going on with Stern and Meade… I want you to be happy, okay? Just be smart about it.”

“Alright. I’ll use protection.”

Pepper shakes her head at him, a smile peeking out despite everything. “Please do.”

“Can you ask someone to draft me some kind of confidentiality agreement?” The admission inherent in Tony’s words is that there would be no need for something like that if he could be satisfied with fucking Justin in hotel rooms, or his other homes, but Tony can’t bring himself to be inconvenienced. He wants Justin here for the time being. If he has to convince him to sign some documents first, then so be it.

“That’s very sensible of you, Tony.”

“No, no. You’ve corrupted me. I’ve been corrupted. I can’t live like this.”

“You can,” Pepper says with more emotion in her tone than there should be.

Tony should really stop joking about his impending death. Everyone around him gets so gloomy about it. “Chin up, Ms. Potts. You have a whole day of arguing the media and the government alike into submission. They have no idea what they’re getting into.”

“They never do. Thanks, Tony,” Pepper says, and if it feels like it’s for more than just his words, then Tony ignores it.

He watches her drive off, absently wondering if he should get her a better car while he has the time. She can’t possibly continue in the same one she’s been driving for five years now. It’s a travesty. Stark Industries is used to his flash and glamour, not Pepper’s sensible Honda. Maybe she’d accept a nice Mercedes. He can hand her the keys and fly off before she asks how much it costs.

Standing in the doorway, Tony is in the best possible spot to see an unfamiliar black car approaching his home. “JARV, tell them I’m not home.”

“I believe Mr. Fury has already seen you, Sir.”

“Why did you have to tell me that,” Tony grumbles. He watches Fury step out of the car and calls out, “You’re the last person I want to see today, Fury!”

Fury’s feelings don’t seem to be hurt in the slightest. “Get inside, Stark. It’s about time you and I had a conversation.”

To add insult to injury, Coulson steps out of the back seat. On the other side, Natalie Rushman does the same, wearing a skin-tight black catsuit that Tony takes a moment to admire despite his growing anger. He’s already had one dealing with Fury and Coulson after the mess in Afghanistan. To Tony’s knowledge, that had been the end of it. And now, apparently, Rushman is less assistant from legal and more government spy. “We already had a conversation. Boy band, me, not interested. Ring any bells?”

“You’re looking a bit ill there,” Fury says, walking past him. “Take a seat. I have bigger problems than you to deal with. The only reason I’m here is because you _still_ haven’t found a cure for your palladium poisoning.”

“Does everyone know about that?” Tony asks, his jaw tight. “I may be a genius, but I can’t break the laws of science. I’ve tried every element, every combination, everything I can think of.”

Fury takes a seat in one of the chairs on the deck, sitting back while Rushman and Coulson stand nearby. “I’m here to tell you—you haven’t tried them all.”

Well, fuck. Tony’s thoughts are already going in about a dozen directions simultaneously, recalling every conversation he and Pepper had in front of Natalie and kicking himself for everything that shouldn’t have reached her ears. As soon as Fury and the rest are out of here, he’s going through the company’s payroll with a fine-toothed comb courtesy of JARVIS to see if there are any more of Fury’s spies lurking about. There is government regulation and there is government surveillance, and Tony is not about to suffer through the latter, no matter that Fury’s ordering that his spy remain as a floater at Stark Industries. If Rushman—or Romanoff, apparently—thinks that just because Tony is no longer CEO, it’s not his decision, then she hasn’t faced Pepper’s anger yet. Tony wouldn’t mind being a fly on the wall for that conversation.

For his hospitality, Tony ends up getting stabbed with a needle and lectured on his dear old dad. He’s regretting getting out of bed already. He could have avoided all of this if he’d told JARVIS to ignore the news, dragged Justin back to bed, and had some good sex and good food. Maybe Justin would have had another bad decision for the both of them to get up to.

To Fury’s credit, lithium dioxide takes some of the ever-present pain and tiredness away, and it’s not Fury’s fault that any mention of Howard will always make Tony’s hackles rise. Especially when he learns that his arc reactor is based on unfinished technology, that it’s a steppingstone to something greater, something that Tony has no knowledge of except for Fury’s cryptic message about Tony being able to solve the riddle of his heart.

Fury leaves Tony with a box of Howard’s belongings and one final message. “A word of advice, Stark?”

“Another one?”

“I advise that you quit whatever the hell you’re doing with Justin Hammer.”

“You advise, do you.”

“Stop acting like a child,” Fury says, standing and motioning for his agents to head back to the car. “Can’t stand him, but the second someone tells you to stop, you’ll rush full speed ahead. You’ve hated him for years, Stark. Out of all the stunts you’ve pulled since Afghanistan, cozying up to Hammer? Even your dad knew better than that.”

Tony tilts his head back against the chair. Fury’s hardly the first person to chide Tony on his decisions. Everyone feels like they can do it, from senators to people on the street, but the only people whose opinion he actually takes into account are Rhodey, Pepper, and Happy. He doesn’t know Fury, doesn’t trust him, doesn’t answer to him. Maybe if Fury had been talking about someone else, Tony would have given his words some actual thought. But deep down, he knows when he’s screwed, when he’s up against a rock and the metal in his chest. Provided it doesn’t all fall apart, Justin is one of his now, and there’s no weaseling away from that knowledge. Tony doesn’t have so many people he cares about that he’s willing to give one up just because Fury told him to.

“And what if I told you no?”

“Then you will no longer be a prospective candidate for the Avengers Initiative.”

“Already gave you my thoughts on that one,” Tony says. “I haven’t changed my mind. I don’t play well with others.”

“Then learn,” Fury says, checking his watch. “I have a two o’clock. Don’t be an idiot. There is more at play in this universe than your superiority complex, Stark. One day, Iron Man will be needed, and I hope the man who pilots the armor will have some sense.”

With those cheerful parting words, Fury leaves.

Tony makes a face at the ceiling. “You okay up there, JARVIS?”

“Ms. Romanoff did make an attempt on my privacy,” JARVIS says. “I would advise that you remove the three bugs that have been placed in the house and upgrade my security, Sir.”

“See, that kind of advice, I’m always going to take.” Tony flips the lid on the box that Fury left, finding blueprints, notebooks, various memorabilia, and honest to god film reels inside. “I need a drink.”

Definitely should have stayed in bed this morning.


	6. Chapter 6

One of these days, Justin is going to learn to say no to Tony Stark. It would be a useful quality for the future. And the immediate present, as he would be less likely to ruin his business's standing in the eyes of the US Army if he said no to Tony. Frankly, Tony already has too many people saying yes to him. Justin should go against the ocean's tide.

As he kicks his feet up onto his desk and leans back in his office chair, Justin acknowledges this defect in his character and sighs deeply. He's not going to say no. He doesn't want to. Years of self-denial, of anger and deep-rooted jealousy, and here he is. Despite the day's lazy beginning, he's spent the rest of the day in meetings and reviewing the never-ending stream of paperwork that makes it up to the top floor of Hammer Industries.

It's getting late. He's still at the office, takeout cooling on his desk, screensaver appearing on his desktop to warn him that his break has grown long. Justin yawns. He should head home. Any later, and his CFO might drop by on the assumption that as they are two of the last people on their floor, they should have an impromptu meeting. It's too late in the evening to talk numbers.

Justin decides to stick around when his phone starts to ring. _Can't touch this (oh-oh oh oh oh-oh-oh)._ He huffs at the name that appears in the caller ID. Last he checked, Tony Stark wasn't in his contacts.

"What are you wearing?" Justin asks, bringing the phone to his ear.

On the other end of the line, Tony said, "Better yet, what am I eating?" The sounds got deliberately louder. The crinkle of plastic, the sound of chewing, a breathy sound that Justin remembered from the other night, dialed up dramatically.

"Belgian chocolates." There's a small, inescapable smile tugging at the corners of Justin's lips. "You should share."

"Gifts aren't meant to be shared." Tony audibly takes another piece. Justin's mental picture isn't enough; he wants to be there. "Anything on Stern and Meade?"

"I have a meeting with Stern tomorrow morning. With any luck, he'll have something to say." A part of him is dreading it. It's a stupid choice. But there's a thread of exhilaration in it, a bit of _let's show you what I can do_ , a nagging excitement at the possibility of telling Stern exactly what he thinks of him if Stern is guilty. He has a good working relationship with Meade, whose no-nonsense attitude still breaks occasionally with praise for Justin's guns, but Stern rarely exhibits anything but low-level condescension toward anyone he deems beneath himself.

"Good," Tony says, and adds, "There should be a package on its way to you. It's insurance, of sorts. Nothing is going to go wrong—they love you over there, and you're hardly someone they can spirit away same as they can Vanko—but it means that if something does happen, I'll know."

"Is that what you've been doing all day?"

"I also found Pepper's favorite assistant is a SHIELD spy. I went down a nostalgia tour of my dad's belongings. Oh, and I recreated a new element and dealt with my palladium problem, too," Tony replies, smug as one can be. "But more on that later."

"I'm happy for you, Tony," Justin says, heartfelt. That doesn't stop him from immediately trying to pry out more information from him. No dice. Tony is unusually secretive, evasive about the hows and whys and _what the hell, it's been one day_. Despite it all, Justin can't muster up the will to be angry; something has noticeably changed in Tony. Even over the phone, he can tell that some of the stress Tony has been carrying has vanished. There's nothing morose in his tone. His good cheer doesn't sound as though it's covering for pain and exhaustion. He sounds better than he had on the racetracks of Monaco or during the senate hearing. Justin is glad to hear it.

When the package arrives by courier, he's amused to find that it bears a single pair of eyeglasses in a similar style to his own: black-rimmed D-frames only marginally larger than his current ones. Justin slips his glasses from his face, folding them and setting them on the table. He replaces them with Tony's gift, one that he certainly won't share with anyone else, let alone allow anyone to try on, and slides them on.

There's a blinding burst of light, at which Justin near-yells, " _Ow_ ," and nearly throws them across the room.

"They're calibrating to your eyesight!" Tony says from phone's speaker. "Give it a minute."

"Dammit, Anthony," Justin mutters, but relents. Within a few moments, the burst of light becomes muted, and a kaleidoscope of colors appears before his eyes almost as quickly as it vanishes. When he blinks, there is nothing there. When he blinks again, he can see Tony inside a very small screen in the corner of the glasses. Justin takes the glasses off for a moment, turning them to the other side and finding no trace of the screen. He puts them back on. With a very different tone of voice, he says again, "Damn. This is genius."

"Your vision isn't so bad that you need glasses all the time," Tony muses, visibly preening with the praise.

Justin huffs. "It's a fashion choice. How much can you see with this?"

"Everything you can." Tony continues, going through the features of the glasses. "Most of the perks are on my side. There wasn't enough time to develop these to their fullest extent, but they'll serve their purpose. When you go in tomorrow, JARVIS and I will be monitoring and recording. Stern won't know what's coming."

"Stern could still be innocent. It might be a coincidence," Justin says, mostly to see the look of disbelief on Tony's face. "Still, thank you. Don't take it personally when Stern and I start trash-talking you."

"I knew Stern talked behind my back. I bet he whines constantly." Tony doesn't sound anything but amused. There's a grin in Tony's voice. Justin can almost hear it, especially when Tony says, "So, what are _you_ wearing?"

"What were you saying about gifts not meant to be shared?" Justin asks, but he's already angling his head so that Tony can see his suit. His door is already locked from when he'd wanted privacy in opening the package.

The call becomes very pleasant after that. 

Later, Justin exits his office building with a spring in his step and the knowledge that the warranty on this thing he has with Tony has been extended. Perhaps not indefinitely, not with the way Tony flies around in Iron Man like he's courting death, but it is longer than it had been. He doesn't know the details of how Tony came up with a solution for his palladium problem; he does know that there will be time to convince Tony to sate his curiosity in the future. There are so many things that Justin wants. It's absurd to think that he may be done with self-denial and the delusion that he hates Tony Stark.

There's nothing close to hate here.

His chihuahua greets him upon his arrival. It's been at least an hour since his dog-walker left, so Justin lets her out in his backyard. She barrels into his shins when she's done with her business, and Justin picks her up, allowing her to lick at his face. His runs his fingers through her long coat.

"You're not coming into work with me tomorrow," Justin tells her. "No matter how many kisses you give me. Stern doesn't consider you a real dog, darling, because he's a dick. And crooked, it looks like."

Even as he says it, he finds it hard to believe. Or rather, he doesn't want to believe it. A decade of working with Meade, then with Stern. Years of contracts, of money both ways, of celebrations and trips. He can understand wanting to one-up Stark Industries and Tony in particular. But hell, kidnapping a man who tried to kill Tony in order to pick his brain? Doing so off the books, without simply having him brought to the United States and making some sort of deal? Justin is no stranger to dirty business deals, but there's a level of audacity there that boggles his mind.

He's never had much faith in people. As an arms dealer, it's discouraged. No war, no business. But there's a line there, buried under blood and murky water, and Justin hasn't crossed it yet. He hadn't realized he was working with someone who already had. And for what? What sort of purpose is there, with something so under the table that a senator and a general will risk their careers for it?

As he runs a finger over the metal rim of his glasses, Justin wonders what it says about him, that in the absence of all else, he has faith in Tony Stark.

*

In the morning, he chooses his suit carefully, going with one similar to what he usually wears when meeting with Stern socially. It's not an official meeting, nor one held in DC, where Justin usually sees him. The news is on in the background as he dresses. The Stark Expo is going strong, although the announcer makes a dig about Tony Stark himself being less involved than promised. Today, Tony is nowhere to be seen, and the news camera pans to a shot of Tony's mansion. As ever since the senate hearing, there's a morning discussion about the proprietary nature of Iron Man suits, the extent to what Tony owes the US Army to provide it with the suits, and whether Pepper Potts is suited to being CEO of Stark Industries.

It's all overly Stark-centric, as though Tony Stark is the only thing worth talking about.

Unfortunately, Justin can't even blame them. Much. He's been preoccupied with Tony lately in strange, unexpected ways, and it's hard to imagine going back to the way things used to be.

He takes one last look at himself in the mirror and slips on Tony's glasses. Showtime. In the backseat of his car, his usual driver at the wheel, he speaks to Tony briefly before turning to working on things less pleasant. It's an hour's drive to the address Stern had provided him: a privately-owned building, formerly a factory. It has a large, open floor plan from what JARVIS tells him and shows him through the glasses, although it has doubtlessly been updated for use by someone as fussy as Senator Stern.

Justin closes his eyes, leaving the images in front of his eyes behind, and casts his mind back two weeks. The Justin Hammer of two weeks ago had his ego bruised by Tony at the senate hearing and is holding a grudge the size of Texas. He doesn't know what Tony tastes like or how he looks when he's asleep in bed. That Justin may still be attracted to Tony, but it's buried, hidden under years of denial. He's here as the businessman who requested Stern to take a glance at Justin's designs, not as a friend of Tony Stark.

When the car comes to a stop, he opens his eyes. He and Stern must have arrived within a short time of each other; Stern is still outside the building, enjoying the late spring day and a cigarette.

"Phil," Justin calls as he exits his car, a smile already out. "Don't tell me you're back to that habit."

"It was always going to happen," Stern says in reply. He blows out smoke away from Justin's direction.

Justin can smell it anyway. His smile threatens to slip away, but he's dealt with this before. It's been a few years since he gave up smoking and bought a chihuahua instead. It was the best choice for him, but that doesn't mean he doesn't miss it. Even secondhand smoke is almost a comfort.

He stands with Stern for a while longer, listening to him bitch and adding his own thoughts. It's the morning news with stronger language; Stern doesn't seem to be in a hurry to see Justin's designs. They head inside to a sparsely furnished office, where Meade and a few others have already gathered. Stern introduces them all as military without going into more detail. 

"Let me show you what I've got for you," Justin says, pulling out his tablet and getting to work.

These plans are nothing on the Iron Man suit, but they're just barely on the right track, with Justin's flair and a hint of Tony's engineering skills. It's enough to intrigue if not impress. He and Tony had worked hard on them the other night after the more pleasant parts of their phone call.

As he finishes going through the plans, Justin says with a sneer at his lips, "We've come far since the early prototype you saw at the senate hearing. Stark had no right to hack into our files and air that video to the public."

"Stark does a lot of things he has no right to do," Meade agrees. He shares a look with Stern. "These are good, no doubt about it. But what we really need is someone to give direction to our new engineer. He has the brains, but not the vision. Not yet."

Justin has a sinking feeling that he knows who Meade is talking about. He wants proof; he doesn't want it, either. There is no screen in the corner of his glasses. Both he and Tony agreed it would be too distracting during the meeting. Still, Justin considers Meade's words and thinks, no, not yet. He can't be too eager. "I'm not sure I have the time for that. I'm a CEO. I hardly micromanage my own engineers, let alone someone who's not on my payroll."

Stern smiles. It's a disconcerting sight. "Not even if we put him on your payroll? He's a brilliant man. You could use a man like him at Hammer Industries. As much funding as we've sent your way, you're still not at Stark's level."

"I wouldn't say no to that," Justin says, slowly, as though deciding. "You think he can get me something in time to present at the Stark Expo?"

"I'm sure we can work something out."

Meade cuts in, giving Justin an evaluating look. "We're looking for someone who shares our vision. We've had our eyes on you for a while now, Hammer, and I believe you can be useful to us."

"Quid pro quo," Justin says. He taps on his tablet, turning it dark. "Where have you got this engineer stashed away?"

Stern and Meade share a look. With silent agreement, Stern stands. "Let's give you a tour."

Justin follows. As much as he tries to project the image of confidence, there's trepidation in each step he takes. He isn't cut out for this. This is Tony's game. Justin likes to sit back, play golf, maybe do some paperwork if he has the time. His thrills include beating out other companies for government contracts and teaching his dog new tricks, not risking his life. This is the job of someone in an Iron Man suit. Justin is very aware of how little defense his suit's fabric has against the guns Stern and Meade's companions wear. This is espionage. And not the fun corporate kind.

In the corner of his glasses, Tony appears. He gives Justin a thumbs up, then the screen vanishes again.

Justin takes a deep breath disguised as appreciation over what Meade is talking about. It doesn't matter if he doesn't commit everything to memory. The glasses will record and stream all information over to Tony. All Justin has to do is keep walking, keep talking, keep smiling. He can do that.

They pass various rooms, including training rooms with men in tactical gear, and Justin doesn't comment. Discretion is the better part of valor. Stern and Meade seem to have decided to invite him into their little club, but that doesn't mean they can't change their minds if Justin starts asking the wrong questions. He's here for one thing only: information on Vanko.

Down the hall, there is a door. A soldier stands to attention in front of it. He steps aside as they approach, and Stern waves Justin into the room.

It's not a cell, for all that Vanko is in chains and three more guards can be found inside the room. It's a workshop: pieces of metal, welding and other equipment, a computer with a screen large enough to be easily monitored by the men in the room with him. The chains between Vanko's arms clang as he places the blueprint he's holding on the table.

He sneers their way but doesn't speak. His lip is puffy. One of his eyes is bruised. Vanko's time in the care of Stern and Meade has obviously not been good. He's barefoot, too, and Justin's gaze lingers on the tattoos on his feet before he meets Vanko's eyes. This is the man who tried to kill Tony Stark. He doesn't deserve anything good.

He also doesn't deserve the bruising his clothing is probably covering, or the way he looks at Stern with wariness. No one should look at Stern that way. The man's a laughingstock in congress. There's a whole YouTube channel dedicated to the stupid shit he says. He's not someone to fear. Or rather, he wasn't.

"Vanko," Stern says, the greeting colder than his earlier words about his prized engineer.

Vanko curls his lip and spits something in Russian in reply. It's obviously not favorable, but Stern doesn't seem to mind. He's going to be punished for it later, Justin realizes. Best behavior for the person they're trying to bring into their group. Fuck, is this some kind of cult?

Justin raises an eyebrow, glancing at Stern. "He has a striking resemblance to someone on the news. Can't quite put my finger on it."

"He attacked Stark at the Grand Prix," Stern replies. "You should remember—you were there."

"In my attempt to cozy up to Stark," Justin agrees. "It didn't last long. Left a dirty taste in my mouth."

"You should know that there are better people to ally yourself with than Stark."

"I do now. Profit is everything, after all." He gives Vanko what he hopes is an assessing look. "I've seen your engineer's work. It's good."

"We couldn't let him get away from us, could we, boys? It's better this way, off the books. Had we done it through proper channels, there would have been too much scrutiny. Not to mention time. There's no time to waste when catching up with fucking Stark."

"You're right," Justin says, cheerfully, and tries to look like he's not dying inside.

Good fucking lord, he's been working for years with a man who would do this to a man just to get his tech. Vanko may not be a US citizen, hell he's a Russian terrorist with a prison record, but you don't do _this_ even to men like him. You coax them into working for you, make them lots of pretty promises, most of which you even follow through on. Who the hell would pass up the chance to have a brilliant if crazy mind like Vanko's working for them? Justin had been tempted himself. But everyone knows you can't force genius. The mess with Tony Stark in Afghanistan should have been a lesson to anyone who thought kidnapping and forced labor was the way to go.

"This is for more than just profit," Stern says, something eerie in his gaze. "It's for the good of the entire world. We have the privilege to help those who cannot help themselves, to set the world on the path it should have been on from the start."

 _Oh, there he goes,_ Justin thinks, having heard Stern's speeches in congress. This one is just a little different than his usual, not quite hitting the high points of America's supremacy in a way that Justin is used to. There's something different about it, something off, and it's not the way Stern's face gets when he's passionate about something. He agrees with Stern multiple times anyway; he's gotten what he came here for, proof that Stern and Meade were involved in Vanko's escape, but it won't hurt to have more.

Halfway through Stern's speech, a soldier enters the room and says something to Meade, his voice low enough that Justin can't catch more than his name in association with Tony's.

Meade never has a particularly happy demeanor. He looks positively frosty as he turns to Justin. "A report has been filed. It states that you spent the night of May 29 at Stark's Malibu home. Care to explain yourself?"

It's just business, Justin thinks, but that's not enough. Business partners don't stay the night. And they aren't even business partners—there's nothing between their respective corporations. In fact, it might be worse if there were. He wonders if it's better or worse for it to be a personal connection between him and Tony. Meade seems to disdain any sort of contact with Tony.

"Like I said," Justin says, heart in his throat. "I was cozying up to him."

" _After_ Stark Industries left the weapons market? When your companies are no longer in competition?"

"He hasn't stopped building weapons. That suit is the pinnacle of science and engineering in our time. It flies, it shoots, it's hundreds of pounds of pure fighting technology. Stark can claim he doesn't build any more weapons, but everyone knows that what he means is that he builds them for himself." Justin meets Meade's eyes with everything he has. "And I won't stand for it."

Meade nods, looking satisfied with Justin's answer. Still, he adds, "All night?"

Justin thinks about it for a split second. He thinks about how the men who kidnapped a man from prison won't see his high profile as a boundary against acting against him. He thinks about how he cares more for his life than his privacy. Justin scratches his chin, moves his shoulders all casual, says, "He offered, and I thought it would be good to have an in to his home. It didn't work as I hoped. His security system is top-notch."

A flash of distaste crosses Meade's face, but he doesn't argue with Justin's decision. "You have your methods, we have ours. Once you start working with Vanko, you'll have no time for your _espionage_ of Stark's home."

Justin takes a moment to celebrate passing Meade's scrutiny, but it's too soon.

"How close are you and Stark, exactly? _It's just business_ isn't cutting it for me." Stern asks, taking a step in Justin's direction. His gaze shifts just slightly to Justin's glasses. "Those aren't your usual glasses."

"Got an upgrade," Justin replies. No, that's not sweat on the back of his neck.

And it doesn't matter because within the next moment, a crash resounds from the other side of the building. Justin reaches for the wall to steady himself. It feels like an earthquake, but it stops quickly, followed by the sound of bullets. Meade and the soldiers have already crossed the room and headed for the sound of the explosion, while Stern stays behind for a moment.

"Hammer," Stern says tightly. "Keep an eye on our friend."

Before Justin can argue himself out of the situation, the door closes behind them all, leaving him in a room with Vanko.

The door is locked.

Justin scowls at it, trying it twice more to make sure.

"Fuck you, Stern," he says toward the door, then looks back at Vanko. There's nowhere Vanko could go, not with the way he's chained to the table by his ankles. Justin gives him a wary look anyway. He remembers the way Vanko had turned to attack him back in Monaco. Just because he's chained doesn't mean he isn't dangerous. "Are you going try and kill me?"

Vanko crosses his arms as best he can with the cuffs around his wrists. "You with them?"

"No."

"Then no."

"What about Tony Stark?"

Slowly, with some deliberation, Vanko says, "I want to be away from this place more than I want Stark dead."

"Good enough for me," Justin says and begins searching for something to cut Vanko's restraints. He can leave him there; it would be easier. But fuck if Vanko doesn't already look like he'd been through hell. If their positions were reversed, Justin would be pleading for anyone to save him, but Vanko just looks at him silently.

And, admittedly, Vanko makes a good target for anyone shooting at them. That perhaps isn't the main reason to bring him along, nor the noblest, but it would do in a pinch.

"Tony, you there?" No answer, so Justin tries another method. "JARVIS? You do security. Do you also do un-security?"

"I am a system of many talents," says JARVIS's blessedly familiar voice.

With JARVIS's help, he gets Vanko freed and doesn't wind up in a headlock. Vanko works on hacking the room's computer while Justin pokes around for any conveniently stashed weapons. He finds none. Unfortunately, Meade's guys just hadn't been up to leaving weapons in the same room with a criminal engineer.

With a final press of buttons, Vanko looks up just as the door to the room unlocks with a beep. "Bad security."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm surrounded by brilliant assholes," Justin grumbles. It's easier than focusing on the way his heart is rapidly beating at the idea of going out there. There are still gunshots firing, although the sounds have quieted since the initial crash. "You should go first, just to be safe."

Vanko shoots him a look at that, but he's evidently more intent on getting out of here than lingering to argue with Justin. He opens the door, Justin standing just off to the side. There is no one directly outside the door. He follows Vanko out. Each step is with deliberation. He wonders if he should have stayed behind. But Tony must be ahead because the explosion couldn't have been anyone else, and Justin heads forward like a moth to flame.

When he turns a corner, he's treated to the sight of the assistant-turned-spy Tony mentioned. She's lovely and deadly, and seems to be Vanko's type. Justin wonders if all of Tony's employees are hired on attractiveness and a death wish.

"Hello, Ms. Rushman," Justin says with a wave. "Did Tony call the cavalry in?"

"To a secret pseudo-military base where weapons are being made for who knows what purpose? He's not arrogant enough to ignore the threat."

"Just nearly that arrogant?" Justin asks. "Is he up ahead?"

"He's where the fighting is."

From there, Justin feels pretty content with things, especially after she puts a man in a chokehold with her thighs. Say what you will about corporate espionage and whatever else she was doing while employed at Stark Industries, he is happy for the presence of someone who is unlikely to make an attempt on his life. He picks up a gun from one of the knocked-out soldiers in preparation for a worst-case scenario, but is otherwise happy to let Romanoff handle the rest.

A part of him worries about Tony, but the man is inside a near-invulnerable suit of metal. Justin refuses to believe that Tony can be killed by men such as Stern and Meade and this secret military cult of theirs. Now that the palladium poisoning is cured, he won't live in a world where Tony is taken from him so quickly.

Justin isn't done with him yet. He's not sure if he will ever be.

Romanoff throws open the doors that separate them from the fight. Vanko follows after her, looking more than happy to go after any remaining captors. His revenge is personal, and Justin doesn't begrudge him it, though he's rather glad to not be in the place of Vanko's enemies. Before Justin has time to do more than get a few shots in, the fight is over.

Fury's operatives flood the building, wrapping up loose ends and starting a top to bottom search of the building. Justin is looking forward to hearing about their results, but his attention isn't on Fury, nor on Stern's angry red face, nor on the attractive spy nearby. Iron Man is like a beacon, and Justin walks toward him.

Tony flips the faceplate as Justin nears, grinning at him tiredly. "How did you like being a part of the Iron Man action?"

"I would have rather stayed at home," Justin tells him, and Tony's smile grows wider.

"You were a big help to us. I couldn't have gotten Stern to talk that honestly even if I kissed his ass for a year. That video—and anything else Fury will find—will make sure we won't hear from them for a long time."

"To world peace," Justin says, wryly, looking up at Tony. He's taller as Iron Man; Justin wonders how much of that is necessity and how much is a dash of vanity. Justin can't deny that Tony looks good like this, heroic and shining. "Come on," Justin says, giving Tony a once over. Tony looks better than he had just days ago, but piloting the Iron Man suit isn't an easy task. Tony's job is done. He's saved the day, contained Stern and Meade, and no doubt sent the footage from Justin's glasses to Fury and other authorities. "Fury has the scene under control. I'm calling in my favor—get me out of here. I'll give my statement later."

"Want to fly?"

"Only as far as to the nearest car," Justin tells him, but he steps closer and holds onto to Tony's suit, feet on metal feet.

It's a thrill. So is stowing away the suit, getting into the limo, telling the driver to roll up the partition, and acting on all their heightened adrenaline. Justin's fucked around in a limo before, but it's different like this, working off the hammering of his heartbeat and letting the events of the morning fade until it is only the two of them in the back of the limo and in Justin's head. More than just his head, but it's not the right time for that.

The driver brings them to Tony's home. Tony makes them drinks, while Justin finds himself on the deck again, leaning against the side rail and staring out into the ocean. It's then that he thinks about the day's events, and as Tony approaches, Justin says, "So I hear that SHIELD is spying on you through JARVIS."

Tony raises an eyebrow, an innocent look crossing his face. He hands Justin his drink. "Horrible. How dare they."

Justin snorts. "You fed them that information, didn't you?"

"It would have been rude of me to _not_ use the bugs they planted. And... I needed help," Tony admits. "Rhodey and I are a two-man army, but it was a big base and I needed someone on the scene who could corroborate my version of events without making it seem like I led them there. If that meant giving them a clue from the bugs they left here, then so be it. It was a good thing I did. They were awfully ready to be suspicious of you."

"I could have convinced them." Justin isn't sure if it's a lie. He says it anyway.

"I'll take any excuse for an explosion," Tony says, shrugging. As though it doesn't matter. But his eyes are warm, and Justin wants to sink into them. "It was a rush, wasn't it," Tony says with a knowing grin. "Getting one over Stern, rescuing our damsel in distress."

"Is that me or Vanko?"

"Vanko's not much of a damsel." Tony sighs, and says, "I'm going to help him. It's going to be an international issue, no matter how the government spins it. I sent my team of lawyers in to make sure that Vanko doesn't end up thrown in some cell instead of his case being dealt with properly."

"You sympathize with him, don't you," Justin says, shaking his head.

"I empathize with him. There's a difference. Not too long ago, it was me being held captive by people who tried to force me to make weapons."

"He's not a good man, Tony."

"No," Tony agrees. He looks out into the water, and when he looks back, he seems sheepish but just as determined. "But neither was I. Neither were you. Besides, he was abducted by a senator and an army general. The greenest lawyer in the country will be able to get him off. If, after that, he comes after me again... that's on him."

"You have a death wish," Justin says. He blames it on the insanity of the day that it comes out fond.

And, well. There's always a silver lining. He doubts that Vanko will accept Tony's offer of employment, but there's no reason he can't make one of his own. He's a sight better than Stern and Meade, and he's not the man who got Vanko's father deported. And he was the one who got Vanko out of his chains and out of that locked room. It would mean that Justin can keep an eye on him in case Vanko ever wants to pick up electric whips against Tony again. He can pick Vanko's brain in the meantime.

Justin is flexible that way. He may no longer want to screw Tony over—no, he just wants to screw him—but a little competition is healthy in a relationship. Speaking of...

"These days with you, they've been some of the best of my life," Justin says.

"Ah. I've heard this before. No, I've said it before. I can't say I've never been on the other end."

Justin shakes his head at him, fond and unable to be anything else, and Tony must see it because the defensive line of his shoulders smooths out again. "You're not on the other end."

"I'm not, aren't I," Tony says. His gaze feels heavy, and Justin can't look away. "I kept trying to convince myself this was temporary. I almost managed it."

"Almost?"

"Almost."

"Good. I dare you to

"Good. You'll have a hard time getting rid of me, Anthony," Justin tells him, feeling light as air. He wants a lot of things. To finish his drink, to take a shower with Tony and wash away the morning, to wind up in Tony's bed again. And he's going to get them. Justin knows, in his heart of hearts, that he doesn't quite deserve a happy ending. He's hardly Prince Charming. But he wants it, and frankly, for as long as Tony is agreeable, he's going to get it.

Tony laughs, sets down his drink. "I regret it already."

But he kisses him, and there's nothing like regret in his kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I left the issue of whether/how much SHIELD finds out about Hydra open-ended here because I feel like if I properly threw in Hydra, this fic could go on forever, and I'd like to end it here. Stern is canonically part of Hydra, while Meade just got thrown in for the fun. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, everyone! It's been great exploring this ship and giving myself all sorts of Justin/Tony feels. If you want to read some notfic/various thoughts about this ship, here's my [starkhammer](https://wynnefic.tumblr.com/tagged/starkhammer) tumblr tag.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Pavlov’s Bell](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18780436) by [TheFeistyRogue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFeistyRogue/pseuds/TheFeistyRogue)




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